Absolutes
by bringyourladder
Summary: Follows the arc of Origins but begins with some in-depth background for most characters, specifically, events that caused them to join the Wardens' quest. Dialogue may not be verbatim. May be some plot rearrangement. M just in case. F!Cousland/Leliana
1. Sold

_A/N: So I haven't written in a very long time. Like literally years I think. So I'm very sorry for that. But I just got back into it recently, and I wanted to make prologue stories for Zevran and Oghren. Maybe some others along the way. I just finished Zevran's, and will be working on Oghren's next. I'll also be editing and reposting existing chapters, as I've had some recent inspiration and want to make sure everything fits. And then of course continuing along. I'll also need to do some chapter re-arranging, I suppose..._

___For new readers, each part of the prologue focuses on a different character and details the events of his or her life that eventually leads them to aid the Grey Wardens. Following the prologue, the main story will follow the arc of Dragon Age: Origins, with some artistic liberties taken here and there - after all, it is fanfiction. I am marking the beginning of The Blight as the battle at Ostagar. Reviews are most welcome!___

___Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare.___

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><p><em><strong>Prologue<strong>_

**Sold**

_Antiva, 12 years and 5 months before The Blight_

"Quickly, Zevran!"

The young elven boy tore his eyes away from the sword-swallower and scurried after the group, hoisting the bag of goods higher on his shoulder.

Every eighth day was Market Day, and he would travel to the Market District with a few of his cohorts to purchase supplies for The Bearded Clam. Truthfully, he and the other boys were simply there as pack mules – Marella and Paola, two of the Clam's "hostesses" (and its best hagglers), decided what they needed each week, purchased the goods, and handed them off to their charges to carry back to the harbor on the outskirts of Antiva City.

They hurried along the crowded streets of the District, weaving through the merchants and street performers. Zevran tripped more than once as his eyes lingered on the public entertainers – a trio of dancers, a man juggling torches, the eight-foot bride. Every week, the young boy looked forward to Market Day; he rarely had reason or permission to leave the Clam or the docks upon which it was situated.

Reaching the edge of the Market District was his favorite part – the largest leather shop in the region was on their route in and out of the district, and the smell of its goods was strong. He breathed as deeply as his small lungs allowed, absorbing the scent for the last time until their next trip.

Then, as if in a blink, they were out of the light of the Market District, heading away from the setting sun and toward the narrow walkways of the wharf. Zevran glanced around quickly for one last look, swinging the bag around onto this other shoulder.

xxx

He was awoken by Marella the next morning, early, as every other morning. As the room slowly came into focus, he noticed a sense of urgency in the madam's voice that he hadn't heard before. She was darting around the room, tossing long-sleeved tunics at the boys as they scrambled out of their bedrolls.

A lump of cloth hit Zevran in the face as he stood. He unfolded it and examined it curiously.

"Well don't just stare at it Zev, put it on!" Marella instructed. Glancing at the sleeveless chiton he normally wore, he pulled it hastily over his head. It was almost laughably oversized, but he decided against saying anything to the harried woman and instead tugged on his breeches and sandals.

"What's going on?" another boy inquired.

Marella didn't reply, instead glancing around the room to make sure everyone was dressed.

"Come on then," she clucked at them, herding them out of the small shack where they were housed. She ushered them along the docks, in the direction of the Market District.

"Are we going to market?" Zevran asked, unable to keep a hint of excitement out of his voice.

She moved her eyes to his, fixing him with a look that he was unable to pinpoint; he thought there might have been a shadow of sadness.

"Not like you're used to," she responded softly.

xxx

It was within the bounds of the Market District, but Marella had been right – it was not the district as Zevran knew it. He'd heard of this part, of course, but had never had any cause to go there.

Schiavo, they called it. An old Antivan word for "slave," this hidden corner of the Market District was where shady ne'er-do-wells met with citizens with coin to make trades.

The exchange of money for people was certainly not illegal in Antiva, but those of noble houses did not wish to witness such transactions. Indeed, it was something of a cautionary tale even amongst the boys at the Clam. "If you're bad they'll send you to schiavo," they'd whisper at each other during quarrels. Zevran more or less liked his life at the Clam, despite the constant presence of its drunk and rowdy patrons, grabbing for any passing woman. He had never known anything else.

Schiavo was not terribly unlike what he'd imagined it to be. It had none of the colorful flair of the rest of the district. Young, barefoot children and ragged adults stood in a cluster on a large pallet. Traders and patrons spoke with heads bent, gesturing occasionally at someone on the pallet.

Zevran watched with a growing sense of dread. He was young, but sharp, and the anxious look Marella now wore did not escape him. She noticed him watching her with a child's helplessness.

Biting the inside of her lip, she bent down until her eyes were level with his. Though she was not the most affectionate of women, she'd always had a soft spot for the young elf and his quiet wit, and she gently clasped his small hand in hers.

"I'm sorry, Zev," she told him gently. "If we weren't in such a bad way…" she broke off as a lightly-armored man approached her, a single dagger gleaming at his hip.

"This is them?" he asked her, not waiting for a response as his eyes slowly roamed over the group before him. Marella nodded wordlessly.

The stranger licked his teeth and tsked with disappointment.

"If this is all you have for me, I'm not sure I can help you." He was posturing, Marella knew, but she felt a defensiveness flare up inside her, and she instinctively placed a hand on Zevran's shoulder.

The movement did not go unnoticed. He raised an eyebrow at the elf – all knees and elbows – and stepped to him.

"What's your name boy?"

"Zevran," he replied coolly. The other boys shuffled in place, afraid to make eye contact with the stranger.

"You know what an assassin is, Zevran?"

The boy nodded, his gaze still steely. "Someone who kills people for cowards with coin."

The stranger barked a laugh and nodded.

"Alright then," he turned to Marella and reached into the coin purse on his belt. "A sovereign for the elf," he reached his hand towards hers.

"Five." She gripped Zevran's shoulder more tightly. The Clam's owner was deeply in debt, and she could not afford to miss out on this bargain. She knew he would never pay five, but she felt a tug in her chest at the thought of turning the boy over for a mere sovereign.

"Five? That's mad," his eyes widened and fell on Marella's white-knuckled grip. "Three," he replied, looking up. "Or I walk."

She cast her gaze to the ground, biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

"Three," she agreed, defeated. Releasing his shoulder, she held out her hand for the coins. The man nodded and pushed Zevran out in front of him. The boy craned his head around.

"Miss Marella!" His voice was tinged with panic. The stranger placed his hand in the middle of Zevran's back and steered him out of the district, away from his adoptive family. He continued searching for Marella's eyes over his shoulder, watching as she turned away and led the boys from schiavo.

Marella never looked back.


	2. Escaped

____A/N: The story of our bard disregards the DLC Leliana's Song. Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare.____

_TW: Allusions to sexual assault_

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><p><strong><em>Prologue, continued<em>**

**Escaped**

_Orlais, 2 years and 3 months before The Blight_

Her breath came in ragged gasps as she pressed her forehead to the unforgiving flagstone. A stifled moan of pain escaped her lips as she pressed a bloodied hand to the wound on her side. Pulling it away from her body, she could see it was covered in a fresh coat of blood, gleaming black in the moonlight.

Leliana raised her head and examined her cell for the first time since she was thrown in on her hands and knees moments before. It was nearly impossible to see – the only light source was the thin moonbeams filtering through the metal grate in the ceiling high above.

_Out of reach_ she thought bitterly, her eyes moving around the rest of the small room. The corners were pitch black, but she suspected they would be constructed of the same impassable stone that comprised the rest of her cell. Scanning the ground, she squinted against the darkness, her hope growing fainter with each second. She slipped a hand beneath her tattered clothes and gingerly palpated her battered body.

She pushed off of her left hand, her right hand clutching her abdomen, and rested on her heels. Taking a deep breath and wincing, she attempted to rise onto her feet, but after a sharp cry, fell forward, her free hand breaking her fall slightly as she landed on her stomach, pushing her right hand painfully against her gaping wound.

The tears came now. Gasping and ragged and desperate, they rocked her body. Pain seared through her stomach with each sob, but she could not stop herself. Even if she could somehow find a gap or weakness in the walls or floor, how could she hope to fight the numerous trained guards that were stationed here?

_I_f she did, by some miracle of the Maker, escape from this wretched place, where would she go? What was there for her beyond these walls? Worse now than the physical pain that was beginning to dull as she lay helpless was the empty void of heartbreak she felt within.

_Marjolaine…_

"Marjolaine," she exhaled, curling her knees towards her forehead and wrapping an arm around them.

"_My dear Leliana," said Marjolaine, reaching for the bowl of fruit next to her large, plush bed. Leliana was stretched out naked next to her, the blanket covering her only partially._

_She turned back to her and lifted a berry to Leliana's mouth, tracing it over her lips. She pulled it away as the bard's lips parted, her eyes closing._

"_For all the things I give you, for all the things I have taught you, you must give me something in return, yes?" she asked, placing the berry delicately into Leliana's mouth._

"_Anything, Marjolaine," she whispered, her eyes fluttering open. She could feel her blood surging as Marjolaine leaned in towards her ear and whispered,_

"_Then I must ask this of you."_

_After she had finished teasing Leliana with promises of all the things to come when she had successfully retrieved the belongings of her newest and, Marjolaine insisted, most important target yet, she donned her dark leather armor and daggers. Creeping quietly through Val Royaux, she kept to the shadows and evaded the guards with a kind of ease that comes only from frequent practice. Leliana scaled the stone walls of her target's homestead and slipped into his bedroom window. She slit his throat in his sleep._

_Searching the desk, she successfully retrieved the documents Marjolaine had mentioned. She turned them over in her hand curiously, looking at them as she crept back to the window. But the light from outside cast across the seal on the letters, and she started._

"_The official seal of Orlais?" she thought, worried. She walked back to the writing desk and withdrew a small dagger from the drawer. Carefully, she pushed it beneath the wax and opened the letter, walking back into the light._

_Her heart leapt into her throat as she read. She tucked the letters into her armor and descended down the wall, anxiety carrying her swiftly back to Marjolaine's door._

Now, in the darkness of her prison, she cursed herself for caring. Bitterness filled her mouth as tears slid slowly down her cheeks.

It was hard to admit to herself now, but Leliana knew that if Marjolaine had not betrayed her as she did, she would have taken her place as prisoner without a second's hesitation and likely ended up in this forsaken cell regardless. But that was not how it had happened.

"_Treason, Marjolaine!" Leliana exclaimed, pacing about the bedroom, still in her armor and armed with her daggers. "This was never part of the game."_

"_Leliana," said Marjolaine in her too-easygoing voice. "Sometimes the game must go beyond the borders of Orlais."_

"_This is too much," she insisted. "And why did you not tell me?" Her tone was indignant as she whirled on Marjolaine._

"_To protect you, my dear one," she cooed, stepping to Leliana and tracing a finger down her jawbone. "I did not want to put you in harm's way," she said, her voice soft, batting her eyelashes._

_The bard could feel her anger subsiding._

"_Marjolaine," she began, her voice trembling, "if any harm were to have come to you. If they found out-" she could not bring herself to finish her thought. "I could not bear it."_

"_That is why I needed you to retrieve these documents. And you performed beautifully, as always, my pet," she leaned in towards Leliana's ear, whispering, "Now… I believe you deserve a reward."_

Her hands curled into fists and she clenched her eyes shut, trying to silence the painful memories. But she knew they would plague her every waking moment for, well, however long she had to live, she supposed.

She sighed, her face relaxing. The memories, tears, and wounds had driven her to exhaustion. She closed her eyes and drifted off to a fitful sleep.

_She awoke to the creak of the bedroom door, Marjolaine's voice filtering through._

"_She is in here."_

_Leliana's eyes fluttered open, squinting against the sunlight that poured into the room. Disoriented, she blinked several times and shook her head. When her vision cleared, she bolted upright, pulling the sheets to her chin._

"_Marjolaine, what-" she began to ask, her voice full of panic._

"_Seize her!" said the biggest of the armored men. She could see the Orlesian seal stamped into his breastplate._

_Leliana did not understand until two of the other men were upon her, grabbing her arms firmly and roughly._

"_Let go!" she screamed, struggling uselessly against their iron grip. "Marjolaine!" she appealed, looking to her frantically._

"_I cannot believe," she heard Marjolaine saying as she turned to lean against the guard captain. "I thought I knew her. Traitorous…" she could hear no more as her own screams drowned out Marjolaine's voice._

"_Be silent!" yelled the guard captain, slapping her hard across the face._

_Stunned, Leliana could feel her eyes welling up. The force of his hand left her jarred and quiet, lifting her gaze only to look at Marjolaine, who had tears flowing freely down her face. She didn't understand…_

_The captain pushed her to the ground and threw some tattered linen clothing at her, which she quickly scrambled into. Marjolaine still refused to look at her, and it was not until she saw the documents from the night before in the captain's hand that she had any idea what this had to do with. She frowned in confusion, but before she could think on it further, she felt someone shove a burlap sack over her head and she was enclosed in darkness._

_She could feel everything, but had no idea where she was being taken. When she could finally see, she had been thrown into a chair and bound. The sack was finally removed and she found herself face-to-face with the guard captain and two others._

"_The penalty for treason is, as you know, death," the captain began in a bored voice. "But it seems that government officials feel it is prudent to get as much information from you as possible before, well," he smirked, "before I serve them your head on a platter."_

_Leliana gaped. "Treason?" she said weakly. "What-"_

"_Save your words," said the guard captain, stepping closely to her and wrapping a massive hand around her throat. "We have enough proof to kill you right here. Your information is the only thing keeping you alive."_

_He thrust papers into her face. She leaned back, her eyes focusing on the words. They were the documents from the previous night, she realized again with panic. But, something was different…_

_Where Marjolaine's name had been written before was Leliana's name. She looked more closely, and then she recognized it._

"_Marjolaine!" she exclaimed. "She framed me, she-"_

_Her words were met with another shattering slap from the captain._

"_Do not insult me," he barked, releasing his hand from Leliana's neck and nodding to one of the other guards. "If you will not talk, perhaps we will have to find a way to loosen your tongue…"_

_The torture continued for hours, the guards becoming more creative and ruthless. It was not until they had thrown her from her chair and began tearing at her clothes for the third time that she crumbled._

"_I'm sorry," she said weakly._

"_What?" snarled the captain._

"_I'm sorry…" she began anew, "for betraying my country."_

_The guards froze and looked at each other. The captain snorted and rose to his feet._

"_About damn time," he muttered, conferring with the other. They decided to allow their prisoner some time to recover – therefore enabling her to endure more punishment if she elected not to reveal more information. They lifted her from the chair and threw her into a small cell. She fell to her hands and knees, pain coursing through her body. The door slammed behind her-_

Leliana jerked awake. She blinked, confused. The shooting pain in her abdomen as she sat up brought reality crashing down around her.

_The cell. The torture. The letters._

_I have to get out of here_. She pushed herself to her feet, nearly tumbling forward. She looked up to see that the moonlight was still streaming into her cell; she'd not been asleep long.

She heard footsteps on the stones outside of her cell. Adrenaline coursed through her veins. If she could not escape, she would die trying. And kill as many of those bastards as she could on her way out.

She retreated to the dark corner nearest her cell door, using her bardic skills to melt into the shadows. She heard a key turn in the lock and held her breath.

"Tha's enough rest for you," she heard a gruff, male voice say.

She saw the silhouette of a large frame step through the doorway.

"'Ey…" he began, scanning the room, turning to look at the wall opposite her.

She pounced on him from behind, one hand covering his mouth and the other wrapping around the back of his head. She twisted it hard and heard a sickening and satisfying crack as his neck snapped. These men were fools to send only one guard for an Orlesian spy - she was grateful for their stupidity. It took all of her strength to lay him on the floor as quietly as possible, his armor clinking softly as his lifeless body hit the flagstone.

She pulled a dagger from a sheath at his hip and another hidden in his boots and clutched one in each hand, peering around the door.

The hallway was dark and narrow. The strong odor of mold filled her nose as she edged her way out of her cell and crept along on bare feet.

She tiptoed along and froze when she saw the shadow of another guard cast along the ground at the end of the hall. She pushed her back against the wall and inched slowly towards the shadow. Dropping down to the floor, she looked around the corner and saw a guard leaning back, his head drooping with sleepiness.

She withdrew and stood up, biting back a hiss of pain; counting to three before slipping around the corner, she pressed one hand over the guard's mouth and slit his throat with the other. She laid his body on the ground and continued down the next hall. Only two more guards were waiting for her, and she disposed of them in a similar fashion before she spotted a small grate at the top of the wall of the dark tunnels. Noiselessly, she tucked her daggers into her linen pants and found footholds in the rocks of wall. She hoisted herself up, grunting quietly in agony, to the grate and pushed it open.

It creaked as she opened it and she paused, cringing and looking around. Nobody had heard the noise –it seemed she'd killed all the guards within earshot. She continued to push the grate until it was completely open. With her remaining strength, she lifted herself through the narrow opening and stretched her arms forward.

Mud squelched beneath her hands. Some time between leaving her cell and finding this grate it had begun raining, hard. She dug her fingers into the ground and pulled herself up, stifling her cries of pain.

Once she'd pulled her entire body out of her hole, she turned back to the grate and closed it. She looked down at her body and saw that her linens were soaked in earth and blood – her body had not recovered at all before she'd begun her escape, and she was paying for it dearly.

She pushed herself to her feet – her first task was to get as far away from Val Royaux as possible.

The grating had let her into some kind of alley, which she followed quietly. She closed her eyes and thanked the Maker or whatever was up there watching over her. Between the harsh rain and the late hour, she encountered nobody as she made her way to the docks, stowing away in the cargo hold of a ship. She climbed into a canvas-covered wagon and fell asleep.

xxx

When she awoke, she felt the wagon wheels rumbling beneath her. She sat up slowly, alarmed. How long had she slept? The wagon slowed to a stop and she froze, holding her breath. She could hear voices next to the wagon.

_They're speaking Fereldan,_she recognized, her brow crinkling. Had she already made it from Orlais? She became aware of a tapping on the canvas above. It was still raining – or at least the storm had followed her here.

She heard the voices retreating and peeked her head carefully out of the covering. Since nobody was in sight, she slid out of the wagon and dropped to the ground.

The rain was falling steadily, though not as hard as when she stowed away on the ship. When she rose to her feet she swayed, grabbing the wagon to keep from falling. She looked down: her linens were growing more damp every second. Her skin, like her clothes, was still caked in dirt and blood. Climbing out of the wagon had reopened her wounds, and she could feel the blood seeping from her body once more. She held her daggers in her shaky hands – three fingers on her left hand were broken, and there was a soft patch of exposed skin where the guards had pried up one of her fingernails.

_I look like a refugee, a homeless wanderer…I __am__ a refugee._ Where would she go? She knew nobody in Ferelden, and even in Orlais, those who she did know would sell her out to Marjolaine without a second thought. She cast her eyes about the tiny village, and her heart stopped.

_The Chantry_.

She was never really one for the Maker – she'd never given much thought to it truthfully, but she did know about the Chantry. They took in everyone and cared for those who needed it most. Orphans, the poor…

_Refugees_. She forced her legs to cooperate as she made her way to the Chantry doors. Thunder clapped and lightning illuminated the sky over head. The rain came crashing down now, and Leliana felt her knees about buckle beneath her. She had no idea how she'd managed to make it this far, and seeing the end in sight slowly drained her remaining strength.

Finally the great doors of the Chantry were in reach. She pushed them open and tumbled inside before staggering to her feet and advancing toward the statue of Andraste at the front of the room. The edges of her vision began turning black, and she could feel blood trickling down her stomach beneath her tunic.

"My dear child!" exclaimed a grey-haired woman, approaching her with a hand clasped over her mouth.

Leliana looked up at her, her head lolling slightly as she struggled to keep it upright.

"I seek the Maker," she whispered. Her daggers clattered to the floor as she sank to her knees, and then darkness enveloped her.


	3. Abandoned

_This, like Sold, is completely new. Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prologue, continued<strong>_

**Abandoned**

_Orzammar, one year and ten months before The Blight_

The door of the tavern swung shut behind the dwarf as he stumbled down the stone steps and into the street. He stopped a minute to catch his breath, bent over with his hands resting on his knees. The street was quieter than the rowdy and raucous bar from which he'd just exited, and a pillow of quiet now pressed on his ears.

As he straightened, he swayed slightly. By all accounts he should have been laid out on the floor; after all, he'd nearly cleaned the tavern out of ale. But truthfully, he couldn't remember his last sober moment, and his practiced intake of alcohol left him surprisingly functional.

"Ah, the mighty Oghren!" someone called out mockingly.

Oghren grunted and turned in the direction of the voice.

"Karsten," he growled at the figure.

"Ah-ah!" tsked the young man. "I think you mean Lord Meino."

"You're no lord – just playing dress-up in your father's clothes," Oghren retorted.

Karsten approached him with the insolent swagger of a spoiled youth. That he was surrounded by perhaps a half-dozen young lords of Houses Meino and Bemot only heightened the effect.

The young Lord Meino barked a laugh. "Oddly said with disdain," he replied coolly, gesturing at Oghren's armor and weapon. "Quite the warrior you are, stumbling about in the street like some drunken casteless."

"I am the _greatest_ warrior in Orzammar," Oghren responded, grinding his teeth. It was true; or, it had been, before the sudden departure of his entire house – lead by his wife.

Karsten looked amused. "You hide it well. Or is the prerogative of the greatest warrior to beg the Assembly to do his work?" He paused, watching Oghren's jaw working wordlessly as he slowly approached him. "Surely such a great soldier could follow his wife and house down the Deep Roads himself."

Oghren's hand drifted to the hilt of his battle axe. "Challenge me," he growled. There was a stifled sound of surprise from somewhere in Karsten's group. Oghren unshipped his axe. "Best me, and prove that I am no longer Orzammar's greatest warrior."

Karsten's gaze grew hard. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply and unsheathed his sword. Oghren knew that the young lord would not turn down a challenge with such an audience.

"An excellent idea," he rejoined casually after a moment. "Are you sure you know which end of the axe to hold in your state?" Oghren readied his weapon in response. Karsten nodded. "To first blood then."

Oghren grunted. He very much wanted to dismember the young idiot, but killing a lord's son was ill-advised at best.

The first several minutes of the duel were somewhat uneventful; each dwarf was testing the other, judging his opponent's reactions and fighting style. Oghren took a swing that was blocked easily by Karsten's sword. The young lord barked a laugh.

"I see why you are unwilling to venture into the Deep Roads alone," he jeered. "You have still not drawn blood from even one man – and I hear the darkspawn travel in packs."

Oghren said nothing, instead side-stepping a jab and biding his time for an opening.

"But then you've surely realized that you would never find her." Karsten's lip curled, "Even a Paragon could never survive so long in the Deep Roads." He shifted his grip on his sword.

It happened too quickly. Oghren's field of vision was filled with the red berserker's haze and he felt himself raise his axe. Not until he was standing over the bloodied corpse of Lord Meino's youngest son did he realize what had happened.

xxx

"Oghren of House Kondrat," boomed the voice of Lord Helmi. "You have been found guilty of dishonor and murder. Testimony of several members of Houses Meino and Bemot state that in a duel to draw first blood, you instead killed your challenger."

Oghren lifted his eyes to the lords and lady of the Assembly. "Their testimony is true."

"In light of these crimes, the Assembly has chosen to strip you of your house name," Lord Helmi stated. Oghren felt a hot flood of water in his eyes. He clenched his jaw and nodded. "Following this declaration of your sentence, you will be barred from bearing weapons within Orzammar."

A murmur spread through the crowd of citizens bearing witness to the trial. Oghren let out a choked noise and looked about wildly as Bandelor, the Assembly's steward, approached with his arms outstretched.

He rapidly blinked back his tears, moving his shaking hands to the hilt of his axe. Slowly removing the weapon, he held it out to the steward, his chin trembling.

"He would have been better off to be exiled altogether," he heard someone behind him say.

"The Assembly is adjourned," called Lord Helmi, bringing down an iron gavel.

The other dwarves began filing out of the grounds, but it was all Oghren could do to remain standing. He watched, broken, as Bandelor walked away with his axe in hand; how would he ever get through the Deep Roads now?


	4. Addicted

_Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Prologue, continued<em>**

**Addicted**

_Redcliffe Chantry, ten months before The Blight_

He jolted awake to the sound of a large book dropping on the table in front of him.

"Alistair," growled the large, armored man in front of him. "If you cannot pay attention in your lessons, then perhaps we will have to find another duty for you," he threatened, looking pointedly to the outhouse through the stained glass window.

Alistair straightened and cleared his throat.

"Oh, you wouldn't want that," he said quickly. "I'm really no good at cleaning. I'm sure it's almost impossible to make an outhouse an filthier, but, trust me, I'd find a way." He laughed nervously.

The captain glared at him a moment longer before picking up his book and walking back to the head of the table.

Around the table where Alistair sat were a handful of young men, all with the same goal of becoming full-fledged Templars.

He had been in training for a good few years now, but in the beginning it was mostly classwork – learning the history of prophet Andraste and the Chantry, the beginning of the Templars and the work they did now. He found most of it incredibly dull, especially considering that becoming a Templar was not something he'd chosen for himself.

He shook his head to wake himself more, but was relieved to find that this particularly dreadful lesson had ended, and they were actually going to start practicing spells. He followed his fellows outside where they formed a line, eagerly awaiting a dose of lyrium.

The spell-casting had begun only a few months ago, but he found that he greatly enjoyed it. Well, he enjoyed the lyrium part of it. He and the other trainees, as well as the Templars, were periodically given relatively large doses of it. With every dose, Alistair found himself looking forward to the next dose more and more – lyrium made him feel powerful, imbued him with a sense of magical strength and cleared his mind. After it wore off, he became sluggish and tired, as he had been feeling when he drifted off in class.

The captain handed him his little bottle, filled with a blue liquid that glowed faintly with power. Alistair hurriedly removed the stopper and tipped his head back, letting the lyrium flow into his mouth and down his throat.

The effects were immediate – he felt himself surging with power as he took a deep breath, straightening up, his vision becoming sharper.

"Now then," said the captain after he'd handed out the last bottle. "Let's begin."

xxx

Alistair lay in his small bed, staring at the ceiling. He tossed about restlessly, unable to get comfortable enough to fall asleep. Frustrated, he kicked off his wool blanket and sat up, putting his feet on the cold stone floor. Standing slowly, he tiptoed out of his room and down the stone hall that led to the Chantry. Perhaps he could sneak out the back and go for a walk or-

He froze in the hall, hearing a desperate moan coming from around the corner. Walking slowly, he peaked around to see one of his fellow fledgling Templars standing guard outside a door.

"Ho there, Erik," he said in a low voice, hailing his friend.

"Alistair," he responded brightly, straightening up. "Glad to see you, I was…nodding off," he admitted sheepishly. "Not that it's easy with this fellow," he shrugged to the door next to him.

As if on cue, another wail of pain came from behind the door.

"How inconsiderate of him," Alistair murmured drily to himself. "What's all that about?"

Erik looked around conspicuously.

"Templar, you see," he began in a whisper, pausing to listen for footsteps. "He was supposed to hunt down an apostate, but he let her get away, the witch." The last word came bitterly.

Alistair shuffled uncomfortably. Another downside to being forced into the service of the Templars was that he didn't share the particular…viewpoints that the other recruits did. Many of them joined up out of sheer hatred of and fear towards mages. Alistair did it for, well, lack of options.

"Anyway," Erik continued, the anger clearing from his eyes. "Captain Kelford ordered him to be kept in here-"

"Please," came a whimper from behind the door. "Just a little."

Erik rolled his eyes. "Just ignore him. I don't know what he keeps asking for. He's got plenty of food and water…"

"Lyrium," Alistair said suddenly. He didn't know where the answer came from, but he could hear the exhaustion in the man's voice. Other than food and water, the only thing that the Templars and trainees received regularly was lyrium.

"Oh," blinked Erik. "Yeah, I guess that'd be it then." He shifted uncertainly, looking around. "Maybe you should be off…" he said slowly, suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation.

"Right," responded Alistair. "Well, goodnight!" he feigned the cheerfulness easily before retreating to the barracks.

He climbed into his little bed and settled beneath the woolen blanket.

_That Templar in there…_

Alistair couldn't force the desperate sounds from his mind. It troubled him deeply – the man was obviously suffering from withdrawal. He thought about how he felt after only going a few hours without the stuff, and he shuddered. Perhaps he ought to start weaning himself off.

He forced his eyes shut and tried to quiet his mind. He could deal with it tomorrow.

xxx

The next day, when he was handed his first bottle of lyrium, Alistair took a small sip and glanced at the captain, discreetly dropping his hand to the side and letting the rest of the contents pour onto the dirt behind him.

He felt the familiar energy, but it was much less strong and very fleeting. A hot surge of disappointment coursed through his body, but he shook the feeling and tried to focus.

His spells that day were terrible – he was able to cast very few, and those that he managed were weak.

Captain Kelford frowned at him.

"Try and get some more sleep, boy," he advised while scrutinizing Alistair. He didn't know if he'd imagined it, but his heart quickened when he thought he'd heard a trace of suspicion in the captain's voice.

But Alistair only nodded solemnly. Somehow he knew that skipping lyrium doses would result in harsh punishment.

xxx

And so it went. Each day Alistair took less and less of the lyrium and his spells grew worse and worse. Some days, he was able to draw enough energy from himself to cast passable spells, but that left him exhausted and weakened.

The guard captain had noticed, as had his fellow trainees, and when Alistair was summoned to the captain's office one day, he felt a knot of apprehension tightening in his gut.

He knocked gently on the thick wooden door.

"Enter," he heard the captain say.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open slowly, edging inside the room.

"Alistair," said the captain. "This is Duncan," he motioned to the man next to him. "He has some business that concerns you."

Alistair's pulse quickened. What did this man want with him? His imagination went wild – was he being taken away? This fellow could be a slave trader for all he knew, probably from Orlais – they'd put him in chains and make him serve food to rich noblewomen while wearing tight leggings and funny hats! He shivered.

He could only manage a nod in Duncan's direction.

"Well met, Alistair," said Duncan. He relaxed a little – Duncan didn't have an Orlesian accent. But then he could be concealing it. "I've come to Redcliffe seeking candidates to join the Grey Wardens."

Alistair blinked. The Grey Wardens? The great warriors who defended the people of Thedas and fought against darkspawn. They were revered, albeit not as much as they once were.

"I have learned from…someone of good authority," Duncan continued, "that you may be one such candidate."

_Arl Eamon_, Alistair thought. Maybe the man knew how much he disliked the Chantry and his forced duty.

Captain Kelford opened his mouth to protest. "This man is training to be a Templar," he said. "Our numbers are low as it is, and we need as many capable men as possible to control the mages."

Duncan turned to him rigidly, his brown eyes hard. "I understand your concern," he said, choosing his words carefully. "But the Grey Wardens have reason to believe that a fifth Blight is upon us."

Kelford snorted. "And what reason is that?"

Duncan did not waver. "The Grey Wardens can sense the darkspawn forces massing- above ground," his voice grew louder to cut off captain's protests. "Well away from Orzammar. While preventing the potential evils of magic is important work," Alistair could hint a trace of derision in this last part, "our first priority is to stop the Blight before it even begins, and I will invoke the right of conscription if necessary."

Kelford could not protest. Laws decreed that the Grey Wardens could conscript into service whomever they chose to aid against a Blight.

"Very well," said Kelford tersely. "Alistair, pack your things. You will leave immediately."

"Captain-" he began.

"Now."

Stunned, Alistair turned and went back to his room.

_Don't_I_have any say in this?_ he thought. But he knew the answer. If Duncan was willing to invoke the right of conscription, nobody could deny him.

He returned to his room and gathered his few possessions, packing them into a burlap sack which he tied at the top. He hoisted it over his shoulder and looked around the barracks. Everyone was either in the practice yards or doing classwork – he supposed he wouldn't be able to say his goodbyes to any of them.

He walked back the way he came and found Duncan standing outside the captain's door.

"Are you ready to depart?" he asked.

Alistair looked around, considering the possibility that he might never again see the people he'd spent the last several years of his life with. He felt a twinge of sadness, but with it, a growing light of hope. He'd never belonged here, and he was living far too close to Arl Eamon for his comfort.

"No going away party?" he asked, feigning disappointment. Duncan did not so much as smile. "Right then," said Alistair weakly. "Onward."

If he had known that many of his fellows would be dead by the time he returned, perhaps he would have tried harder to bid them farewell.


	5. Sacrificed

_No changes here. Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Prologue, continued<em>**

**Sacrificed**

_The Circle Tower, 5 months before The Blight_

Wynne sat at a desk in the mages' quarters, pouring over an old tome she'd recently discovered amidst the delightfully massive stacks of the Circle Tower library. It described the history of lyrium, from its discovery by the dwarves (a race about which she knew very little; she absolutely adored reading about cultures and peoples unfamiliar to her) to the rise of the Chantry's influence and its eventual control over the lyrium trade.

A small cough behind her broke her focus and she straightened her back, her bones protesting ever so slightly.

"Pardon me, Senior Enchanter," said the high voice of a prepubescent apprentice. Wynne turned.

"Yes, Damien," she responded, greeting the young boy with a warm smile. "What is it, child?"

"The First Enchanter would like to speak with you in his study," he informed her, wide-eyed.

She sighed and placed a strip of leather in her book, closing it gently.

"Very well," she told him, patting his shoulder in a grandmotherly fashion. "Thank you for telling me."

Damien gave a timid bow and scurried off. It was rare that the apprentices visited the mages' quarters, and Wynne imagined that receiving a direct order from First Enchanter Irving had probably stunned the boy into near speechlessness. She smiled to herself, remembering her awe at the older mages and the First Enchanter. To make it so far in the Circle meant that they were indeed powerful, but more than that – they had immense control. They had harnessed their talents well enough that they were not a threat to themselves and those around them. The gift of magic was a double-edged sword. It gave the mage, by accident of birth, a power known by few, but also a fierce temptation that could be tempered only with time and practice.

She rose slowly to her feet, grabbing her staff from where it leaned against the wall and sliding it into its usual place against her back.

Wynne left the room and walked to the First Enchanter's study, knocking the half-open door when she arrived.

"Enter," came Irving's gravelly voice from within. Wynne pushed the door open and stepped into the room, approaching his desk and bowing her head.

"Enchanter Irving," she greeted him.

"Ah, Wynne, thank you for joining me," he waved his arm to motion to the seat next to her. She removed her staff and sat down, waiting for him to speak.

He set down the quill with which he'd been writing when she'd entered and clasped his hands in front of his face, leaning on his elbows. He looked at her, his brow now creased in concern. She felt a small pang of anxiety in her gut, worried that she already knew what he was about to say.

But it was not what she'd expected.

"I had an usual visitor today," he began. "A Grey Warden named Duncan arrived this morning and requested to speak with me immediately."

He released his hands and pushed off of his desk, his chair sliding back. Rising to his feet, he continued,

"He informed me that the Grey Wardens believe a fifth Blight will soon be upon us."

"Another Blight?" asked Wynne, her eyebrows rising. "But, how could they-"

"They have sensed a growing darkspawn presence on the surface, specifically near Ostagar."

"The ruins?" she asked. Ostagar was far from Orzammar, where there was always a strong darkspawn presence; that much she knew about where the dwarves dwelled.

Irving nodded. "Yes. This Grey Warden came to request the help of whatever mages could be spared. They need our strongest – those who can fight with elemental forces, cast protective shields, and most importantly," he turned his eyes to her, "capable healers."

Wynne realized now why she had been summoned to his study. She was easily the strongest healer in the Circle, surpassing even Irving in her powers. But she also served as a mentor to a number of apprentices, many of whom were at such a precarious time in their training that the loss of a mentor could be…disastrous.

"Irving," she said, "I recognize the importance of aiding the Grey Wardens, but I cannot be one to go. I have a duty to the children here," she said, gesturing down to the apprentices' quarters below them.

Irving nodded. "I thought you might say that. You are invaluable as a mentor," he started, "but there are other mages here who could handle your duties while you are gone."

Wynne considered this. She knew it was true, and undoubtedly she would be helpful, to say the least, in a darkspawn battle, but she considered her present obligations to be vital.

She sighed. "How long may I have to consider it?" she asked.

"Until the end of the week at the longest," he answered her, "but the sooner, the better. The Wardens are already encountering large pockets of darkspawn near the ruins. They need healers as soon as possible."

She pursed her lips and nodded.

"I will think on this, then," she responded wearily, rising from her chair.

"There is one other matter," Irving intoned before she could turn to leave. The anxiety returned to her gut, and she turned to him sharply.

"The apprentice, Enid," he began slowly, knowing he was on sensitive ground.

Wynne closed her eyes and felt them burn behind her lids. Enid had been giving her and the Circle much trouble of late. Like many others, she was torn from her family when it was discovered that she possessed the gift of magic. Also like many of the others, she struggled with the admittedly oppressive lifestyle of the Circle. The constant watch of the Templars, the scolding from the older mages… but unlike the others, Enid had recently begun taking matters into her own hands, testing the limits of her power, performing dangerous and complex spells, and using magic even when it was not necessary. Wynne feared that the temptation was growing in her, and she'd hoped to quell it before it took hold of the girl and forced the unthinkable…

"She is growing more resistant," Irving said, his voice hard. "If something is not done about her soon…" his words faded away.

Wynne nodded and rose at once. "I will pay her a visit. I will not- I cannot," she corrected herself, "fail her."

Irving gave her a small nod.

As Wynne turned to go, he called out, "Please consider Duncan's request."

She paused in his doorway and turned back halfway, nodding, before continuing down to the apprentice's quarters.

As she came down the stairs, she saw Enid exit a room ahead, walking down the hall in the opposite direction.

"Enid," she called out, quickening her pace. The girl did not stop.

"Enid!" she called, more loudly and sharply this time. The girl continued walking, giving no indication that she'd heard – but Wynne was not fooled. She broke into a trot and caught up with her, grabbing her arm.

Enid whirled around and Wynne gasped, covering her mouth and grabbing her staff instinctively.

"It's too late, you insufferable old hag." The voice came from Enid's mouth, but it was not the high, breathy voice of the slight, fair-skinned girl. Instead it was a deep, booming voice, laced with contempt and the desire for destruction.

"Enid…" Wynne whispered, water filling her eyes.

She looked at the figure in front of her. The body was Enid's, but the being that possessed her was not the sweet, yet frustrated, child that Wynne had taken under her wing when she was first delivered to the Circle. They had spent hours every day, for years, practicing magic and the restraint that came with such power. Like her other apprentices, Wynne had cared for Enid like the child she'd never had.

"Your pathetic child is no more," said the voice – Enid's eyes had been replaced with eerie, glowing spheres. Behind the figure, Wynne could see heads peeking out from the various rooms of the apprentices' quarters.

"Back!" she yelled to them, whirling her staff in front of her. She could feel the power of the creature before her, the corruption, but while it so strongly resembled Enid, she could not bring herself to strike.

"You are weak, old woman," the voice echoed around the cavernous hallway, "and I shall destroy you."

Enid's body was wrapped in a mist as it elongated, transforming before Wynne's eyes.

"Enid, no-" she whispered, but her words did nothing. The body of the small girl twisted and contorted, growing larger, until it was twice the height of Wynne – a mass of disfigured flesh – it stretched its massive arms and reached out its fingers, long, curling nails clicking together. It began to work its hands in complicated patterns, and Wynne drew back in horror as two rage demons, swirling in fire, rose from the stones of the floor.

She tensed her body and brought her staff forward, slamming on the ground and raising her hand. Her spell froze one of the demons in its place, the ice damage devastating to its fiery body. She pointed her staff at the other demon, ice shards shooting from it and trapping it behind a frozen wall.

She barely managed to throw up a shield to deflect the bolt hurled at her by the abomination that had once been Enid. Sweet Enid…

She thrust her staff towards the abomination, unleashing a massive boulder that hurled towards it and slammed it to the ground. She turned her attention back to the demons and finished them easily with bolts from her staff.

When the abomination had recovered, it was grinning at her, its face distorted in a sick, twisted smile.

"You have spirit, witch, I will give you that," it bellowed, sending fire from its hands at her.

She threw herself out of the way, the fire singeing her robes. She clambered hastily to her feet and sent a series of bolts at the abomination, knocking it back once, twice, three times. While it was regaining its balance, she summoned the last of her strength-

"You will take no more of my children!" she shrieked, gathering a massive ball of fire between her hands and sending it with all the force she could muster at the abomination.

It was thrown backwards onto the ground, an anguished scream escaping its lips. Wynne's heart stopped – the scream was not that of the abomination, but instead had the familiar tones of Enid's small, breathy voice.

"No!" she gasped, her staff clattering to the ground as she rushed towards the body that slowly shrank back to its old form.

Wynne fell to her knees, grabbing the shoulders of Enid's lifeless body.

"Enid!" she cried. "Enid!" She shook the shoulders harder, but her arms gave out and she collapsed, sobbing into Enid's robes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, clutching the fabric. Her words were meant for Enid alone. "I'm sorry."

She pulled away and pressed her hands to her face.

_Maker forgive me…_

Tears squelched beneath her palms as she drew her hands down. She forced herself to look at the girl before her and choked back another sob. From between her eyelids, a white light glowed faintly – the only indication that she had ever been anything but a fragile young girl.

xxx

"_Magic is meant to serve man, not rule over him," Wynne recited automatically._

_Enid gave an exasperated huff._

"_Is the Chantry not also meant to serve man?" she challenged angrily. "Why must it rule over us?"_

_Wynne sighed and shook her head. Enid was exceptionally talented – powerful, quick, and extremely intelligent. Unfortunately, this also made her more resistant. She'd made the Templars dangerously anxious on more than one occasion, and Templar anxiety led only to terrible things._

"_The Chantry does not rule over us, my child," she intoned gently. "These are simply measures that are meant to, to protect us." Even as she said it, she could feel a lull of guilt in her chest. All mages at the Circle Tower knew that the life into which they were forced was oppressive, but what was the alternative?_

"_I don't_need_protection!" Enid stomped her foot before whirling around and running out of the room._

_Wynne sank gratefully into a chair and rested her forehead in her hands. Never before had she encountered a child so delightfully talented yet perpetually frustrating as her. She would let Enid burn out her anger for now. When she had calmed herself down, they would resume the lesson_

xxx

When she awoke, she found herself facing the vaulted stone ceilings of the mages' quarters. She must have fainted, she realized, after the encounter with-

_Enid_, she thought forlornly, rolling onto her side and covering her eyes.

Memories of their years together swirled through her mind: the young girl's eagerness to learn, her untapped potential, and her visits to Wynne in the middle of the night when the nightmares started.

_The nightmares_. The first sign. _I should have tried harder…_

She could not imagine feeling any greater sorrow or regret if the child had been her own.

_If I could not save her_, she wondered, _what is my purpose?_

Her eyes flitted to the desk near her bed and fell upon the tome she'd been reading earlier. The memory of her conversation with Irving struck her, shattering the images of Enid that had been playing through her mind. She wondered briefly how long ago that had been before she pushed herself to her feet and grabbed her staff with determination.

_I will be damned if I sit by and allow the creatures of darkness to take any more innocents_.

She walked to the First Enchanter's study and pushed the door open, not bothering to knock.

"Wynne," said Irving, surprised, putting his quill down. "I heard-"

"I am ready," she said resolutely before he could continue. "When do the mages depart for Ostagar?"


	6. Enraged

_No changes here. Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prologue, continued<strong>_

**Enraged**

_Lothering outskirts, seven days before The Blight_

The members of the _Beresaad_ sat wordlessly around a small fire, eating their stew in silence as they had each night for the past three weeks.

A casual observer, though there were none of those to be found in the middle of a wood during an impending Blight, might think that a recent dispute had just taken place and that the silence was both awkward and punitive.

In reality, none of the Qunari brothers-in-arms had any reason to speak to one another, nor did they find it "awkward." And, to be quite frank (and the Qunari were exclusively frank), creating any noise while on a quest to hunt darkspawn and investigate a potential Blight was unwise, unnecessary, and altogether irritating.

Since arriving in Fereldan after their departure from Par Vollen, the _Beresaad_ had encountered several pockets of darkspawn –enough to inform their Arishok that a Blight was almost certainly forthcoming.

But each group had been disposed of easily enough. The darkspawn typically fought with a distinct lack of any tactical organization. The Qunari, however, acted only with precision and accuracy. They carved effortlessly through the small swarms of crazed genlocks and hurlocks without incurring damage.

When all were done with dinner, one member of the _Beresaad_ cleaned the tools and stowed them away. The others retired to their respective tents without bidding one another goodnight. Instead they nodded soundlessly to each other before vanishing behind their canvas flaps.

Tonight it was Sten's turn to clean up camp. He did so quickly enough before tossing dirt into the pit to smother the fire. Unnecessary light would draw the darkspawn, although a coordinated ambush would be unlikely.

He retired to his tent and removed his gauntlets. His other armor he left on, as Qunari do not necessarily need comfort to sleep. His sword, however, he laid gently next to him, his hand resting on the hilt. He would never let his _Asala_, his soul, out of his reach.

xxx

As a member of the _Beresaad_, Sten had spent his entire life training as a warrior. He had learned to sleep easily, and to wake even more easily.

It was the mere crunching of forest undergrowth that woke him. He sat upright, his hand wrapping reflexively around the hilt of _Asala_. He crept to the entrance of his tent and gazed out through the hole.

He could see nothing unusual around their camp, but he saw movement in the other tents scattered around the fire pit. If they had all woken, it would be something worth investigating.

He stepped from his tent almost noiselessly, his sword still clutched at his side. The other Qunari were doing the same, peering into the darkness that surrounded their tents. For several tense moments they stood in silence. Sten had heard nothing else since he emerged from his tent, and the tension in his shoulders began to lesson.

Suddenly a blur of motion caught his eye, and in less than a second his fellow next to him was on the ground, blood spurting from a gash in his neck.

He grabbed _Asala_ with his other hand and whirled around in time to meet another dagger-wielding genlock in mid-air. He slashed it down as the battle cry of the _Beresaad_ rang out around him.

He pivoted, bringing _Asala_ down in a sweeping arc to cleave another genlock in two. In two swift turns, another darkspawn was on the ground, its head separated from its body.

He looked around, a rare form of disquiet rising in his chest. They had come from nowhere, they had come suddenly –

And they had come in a horde.

He whirled around when he heard the guttural growl of a darkspawn behind him. He parried the blow from a giant war-axe, wielded by a fully-armored Hurlock. Confusion creased his brow ever so slightly. Swinging up, his sword was met by the handle of the battle-axe, but he managed to knock the hurlock off-balance, and with another mighty blow, he relieved the creature's body of its head.

But for all his progress and fighting, the darkspawn kept coming. He watched as his fellows around him fell, overpowered by their sheer number. He pressed on, swinging his sword left, right, side-stepping, parrying blows from all angles. He cut down another eight darkspawn and watched as the only other remaining member of the _Beresaad_ did the same. Together, they felled the last four darkspawn that remained in their camp.

When the last body fell, they looked around. The ground was covered in blood and limbs, twisted bodies of Qunari and darkspawn alike.

"This is…" Sten began, his deep voice betraying deceptively little emotion, as usual. "_Parshaara_."

His brother-in-arms nodded and opened his mouth to speak.

But Sten never learned what he had to say. Out of the trees a massive hurlock came charging, swinging his battle axe and taking off the head of the Qunari next to Sten before he could turn to see the killer.

He roared, raising _Asala_ and swinging it towards the hurlock. He was thwarted as his sword met the axe, and the sound of metal clashing rang through the forest. Each strike ended with the same result - hurlock and Qunari seemed to be equals, and the fight dragged on. The hurlock, driven by madness, continued striking at Sten without pause, and when his grip on _Asala's_ hilt slipped momentarily, the axe glanced off the blade and lodged in his abdomen. Sten grunted with pain as the hurlock wrenched it from his gut, but he continued fighting. It was not until he shifted his tactics and took a defensive stance that he finally gained an advantage. The hurlock, excited at the prospect of eliminating such a large quarry, swung crazily toward him. Sten side-stepped and brought _Asala_ down in a sweeping motion, cleaving the creature in two.

He stood over the hurlock's broken body, breathing heavily. He cast his eyes about the camp and he froze in horror. He was, as Qunari warriors and Qunari in general tend to be, nearly always in complete control of his emotions, his voice and face betraying none of what he felt on the rare occasion that he did feel something. He let his hand fall to his side, still clutching his sword. Pressing his other hand to the hole in his abdomen, he grunted, feeling the blood trickle between his fingers. Dragging himself back towards his tent, he grabbed for a scrap of cloth to pack into his wound. He walked past the tent towards the edge of the clearing and stumbled into the forest.

Sten walked blindly for several minutes before reaching another clearing, away from the carnage of battle and the stench of darkspawn. He grunted again in pain as he sank to his knees and collapsed onto his back.

Laying his sword gently on the damp grass beside him, he gazed up at the stars and regained control of his emotions before forcing himself to sleep.

xxx

"Wuh is it?"

Sten's eyes snapped open to the sensation of a stick poking his side gently.

A small boy crouched next to him, inspecting him with the kind of single-minded focus that only a child can command.

"Kevin!" called an adult's voice. "Leave that poor creature alone."

The Qunari reached his hand instinctively towards the hilt of _Asala_, bolting upright when his fingers closed on grass.

The forest clearing where he'd rested the night before was not a clearing at all, but rather the edges of a small farm on the outskirts of village.

A feeling of intense fear and anxiety swept through Sten's gut for the first time in his life – it was such a foreign emotion that the Qunari did not even recognize it as panic.

"Where is my sword?" he asked the child, moving his massive head towards Kevin.

The boy jumped up and dropped the stick, startled.

"Wuh soo-ward?" he said, marring the word.

"The one that was here," answered Sten, placing his hand on the patch of grass where _Asala_ should have been. He looked sharply to the woman who had joined them.

"I dunno," said the boy, also looking to his mother. "'e's lost 'is soo-ward."

"I'm sorry, ser," she told Sten, looking genuinely apologetic, "but I'm not sure of what you speak."

The Qunari growled, rising to his feet. He towered over the woman menacingly, the panic ripping once more through his chest.

"My sword," he repeated, bearing down upon her.

She trembled now, reaching for Kevin and moving him behind her.

"We've only just found you," she insisted, her voice shaking. "There was no sword!"

"You lie, human!" he roared, lashing out with a massive hand to sweep both mother and son aside in one motion.

In truth, he'd never meant to harm either of them, but the fear that had taken hold of him was a force of its own. The blow from his arm had snapped the woman's spine like a twig and nearly separated the boy's head from his body.

He stepped over the corpses, not pausing to notice that even in death Kevin was wrapped protectively beneath his mother's arm.

Sten marched toward the farmhouse, but before he'd gone five paces, a man came running out of the backdoor wielding a drawn bow.

"You can stop there," he called firmly.

But Sten did not stop – he continued moving swiftly toward the farmhouse. When the farmer loosed his arrow, it lodged in the Qunari's shoulder only to be yanked out a moment after. His pace did not slow.

An arm flew out and landed squarely on the man's chest. He grunted as he crumpled to the ground, gasping for air that rushed quickly from his punctured lungs. Rising painfully onto his elbows, his eyes darted to the backdoor where a small girl had tottered out, her blonde curls bouncing with each unpracticed step.

"Papa!" she called, looking about curiously.

"_No, Elise_," he whispered, watching in horror as the Qunari plowed over her, crushing her small body beneath his enormous foot. The farmer's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he succumbed to his injuries.

Sten crashed through the backdoor of the tiny farmhouse, overturning everything in sight.

"_Asala_," he roared, tearing cabinet doors from their hinges and combing every surface of the dwelling.

Exhausted by rage and panic, he kicked open the front door and collapsed on the small porch, breathing heavily. He placed his face in his massive hands as grief wrapped around his heart in an icy grip. His soul had been torn from him in the night – he could never return to Par Vollen, he could never face the Arishok, and he would never again be whole.

When the Templars came for him, he did not resist.


	7. Conspired

_Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prologue, continued<strong>_

**Conspired**

_Outskirts of the Korcari Wilds, six days before The Blight_

Anyone who noticed the raven that had been perched upon the branch overhanging the village square would have undoubtedly thought it a peculiar bird – almost human-like in its behavior. It had been sitting still for nearly the past two hours, watching the villagers below going about their daily business: trading wares, greeting friends, and gossiping in hushed voices. Its only movements were to cock its head occasionally, and perhaps shuffle a little to either side as if to get a better view.

Arguably the most puzzling moment occurred just before the bird departed from its perch – one would almost swear that just before lifting from the branch, the bird had shaken its head and blinked derisively as it spread its wings for flight.

The raven had in fact shaken its head and blinked, undoubtedly with derision. It flapped its wings and retreated into the Korcari Wilds and out of sight of the villagers. Swooping low to the ground, it shimmered, transforming into a tall, exotic-looking woman who sauntered casually away from the village square.

As she walked towards her hut, she considered the human interactions she had just witnessed. The constant chatter, the endless and unnecessary touching!

The triviality of it all.

She shook her head, a wave of minor disgust flooding through her. But on the heel of that wave came one of doubt. She was well-aware that her upbringing with Flemeth had made her harder than she perhaps would be with a less demonic and more, well, _normal _mother. But Flemeth was all she knew, so Morrigan had little choice.

Drawing nearer to the hut, she saw that the dreadful woman was outside plucking herbs from a small garden beneath the single, lonely window of their tiny home.

"Morrigan, so good of you to return," Flemeth called out flatly. "We need to talk."

She felt a pang of dread in her chest and groaned inwardly. "We need to talk" generally meant "I need something and I'm either too lazy or too self-important to do it."

"I can hardly wait, mother," Morrigan intoned before entering the cabin.

She removed her staff from her back and leaned it against a corner. It was unnecessary at the moment, and in their small home, it became cumbersome. Only once had she, as a child, accidentally knocked a jar of some such herb or poultice from a shelf with her unwieldy staff, provoking Flemeth's fierce anger. After that quite painful moment, she had decided to leave her staff untouched except when venturing beyond the borders of their hut.

Flemeth entered moments later and walked to the pot that hung over the fire, tossing in a handful of tubers. She dusted her hands and stepped to a shelf that held a number of oddly-shaped and sized jars, opening the lids, apparently searching for something in particular.

"As you well know, a Blight is upon us," she said, not turning to Morrigan, whose expression was one of such severe boredom that she appeared catatonic. "We will soon have some…visitors."

Morrigan rolled her eyes. The woman was insufferable, her vagueness calculated in an attempt to excite Morrigan's intrigue. She would never in her life admit it, but it was working.

"They will need help," she continued, "as people often do in a Blight. And you will aid them."

"And just how shall I aid them, mother?" she asked drily, her interest fading. She cursed herself for becoming mildly excited – she knew Flemeth would ask something of her eventually.

"You will leave this place and join them on their journey," she said simply, finally removing one of those odd-looking jars from the shelf.

"Sounds delightf- what?" she exclaimed, suddenly processing Flemeth's words.

"An opportunity will present itself, and you must be there to take advantage," she explained, or rather, didn't explain. "Though they cannot know why," she added firmly and a bit too quickly.

Morrigan frowned at her suspiciously.

"And why can you not go in my stead?" she asked as Flemeth tossed some spices into the pot.

Her mother laughed, slowly at first, but it quickly evolved into a sort of maniacal cackle.

"And leave you here to take care of my home? Absolutely not," she answered brusquely, replacing the jar on the shelf.

"Mother," sighed Morrigan in a weary tone. "I am going to need a bit more detail. 'Tis not my wish to rush into one of your favors uninformed."

Flemeth turned slowly and looked at her with such gleaming intensity that a small shiver ran down Morrigan's spine.

"Do you remember what I told you of the Old Gods?"


	8. Betrayed

_Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare._

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prologue, continued<strong>_

**Betrayed**

_Highever, four days before The Blight_

She treaded lightly through the forest, her footsteps barely a whisper on the soft leaves. She paused to kneel, back straight as she knocked an arrow. The bow hissed quietly as she pulled the string taught, aligning her eye with the fletching. A heartbeat later, the arrow was flying through the air – its target had no chance.

There was a dull thud as the head of the arrow sank into a small hole notched in the tree trunk.

"We got him, boy," Sara whispered, patting the massive hound that stood to her left.

The mabari looked up at her and barked happily before chasing his nub of a tail in a tight circle.

She pushed off her knee and trudged to retrieve her arrow, pleased with her aim but restless for more action.

Sara loved the challenge of hunting, but was rarely permitted to do so, and her parents usually used it as a form of bribery. She was ranging in the forest at the moment as a truce she'd struck with her mother – Sara was allowed to hunt today if she would agree to wear a dress _without protest_ at dinner tonight. They were, after all, hosting an Arl, and her mother would be damned if she allowed her only daughter to traipse into the great hall in her usual wrinkled tunic and breeches.

Though the lithe, young girl despised dresses, she loved ranging more than she hated formalwear, so she had acquiesced to her mother's request – not that there had been much of an argument, really.

But to Sara's immense exasperation, there seemed to be no suitable game anywhere in the woods that bordered their estate. Indeed, it was as if some unseen presence in the forest had driven them all off, leaving her to viciously hunt peaceful oak trees. She pursed her lips and peered ahead as she slung her bow onto her back.

"Stay here, Dani," she told the mabari, patting him on the head and then jumping up to grab a low-hanging branch.

She pulled herself up with the ease of a practiced tree-climber (tree-climbing was another activity that her mother frowned upon, but there was no reason for Sara to worry her with every little thing she did). Grabbing branch after branch, Sara gracefully ascended the tree until she was, she guessed, about five bodylengths from the ground.

She flattened herself against the branch and wrapped her legs around the trunk, stretching forward. Brushing aside a bough of leaves, she looked through, her eyes scanning the tops of the trees above.

When she was on the verge of giving up her search, her sharp eyes focused on a very thin stream of smoke that was rising from a clearing about 200 paces away.

_What the-_

Suddenly from below she heard a growl begin low in Dani's throat and escalate to a sharp bark. The hair on the back of Sara's neck began to rise and she looked around for the source of the hound's anxiety. Seeing nothing immediately threatening, she rapidly descended the tree and dropped gently to the ground.

Dani did not even raise his enormous head in acknowledgment of Sara's reappearance. He was no longer growling, but his eyes bore unwaveringly into the forest ahead of them. Sara, even with her practiced vision, could see nothing in that direction, but she trusted Dani's instincts.

She pulled her bow around and silently retrieved an arrow from her quiver, knocking it as she pulled the bowstring taut. Only now, as she attempted to focus through the forest ahead, did she realize that dusk was suddenly upon them.

She swore but kept her bow taut as she began backing slowly towards Highever estate. It was not until Dani had broken his gaze and turned his back from the invisible danger that she did the same, breaking into a hurried run.

_Maker's breath, mother is going to make me wear a dress for weeks_, she thought, groaning aloud.

She ran through the small iron gate in the stone wall that enclosed the back of their estate, shouting a breathless greeting to the handful of workers that still remained in the field. They chuckled and waved to her, one man shouting,

"That's our noble girl -like an outlaw on the run!"

She responded by waving a vulgar hand-gesture in his direction that elicited another guffaw as he slapped his knee.

After what seemed like an eternity of sprinting, she burst into a small room through a wooden door, closing it behind Dani. She stopped momentarily to catch her breath before opening the door that led to the wing where her chambers were, hoping she could sneak through unnoticed by-

"_Sara!_" a sharp and, honestly, quite unnecessarily shrill voice sounded down the hall.

Dani pricked his ears and Sara froze in her tracks, swallowing hard before pivoting on her back foot and turning around.

"Mother!" she exclaimed brightly, opening her arms. "So good to see you! Embrace me."

"Save your breath, Sara Elisabeth Cousland," she retorted, marching toward her with scary determination. She may be the wife of a nobleman, but Sara knew that she had been quite the battlemaiden in her day, and when she got those crazy eyes she had now…Sara shuddered.

"Honestly, is it so much to ask of you to appear on time, or must we always be forced to plan around your whimsies?" she asked loudly, still a bit too shrill for Sara's taste.

"I- ow! Mother!" she protested as Eleanor pinched her ear unforgivingly and tugged her to the bathing room. She opened the door and led her in.

"Where were you?" she demanded. "And take off those ridiculous clothes," she said, collecting the bath soaps from a shelf along the wall.

"They aren't ridiculous," Sara snapped back. "And I was…lost," she said, cringing even as the words tumbled awkwardly over her lips. She had always been a terrible liar.

"You insult me," the Teyrna responded, but the anger was fading. She sighed and pressed a hand wearily to her forehead as Sara slipped into the tub. Her daughter was insufferable sometimes, well, most of the time, but she reminded her so much of herself.

"Don't bother with your hair," Eleanor continued, waving at her absentmindedly. "But you will comb it," she added firmly, raising an eyebrow in Sara's direction.

She nodded emphatically. "Yes, mother."

The crease in her forehead smoothed as Eleanor's face settled back into its usual expression of gentle warmth.

"Please hurry. Nan will be in your room when you are finished," she walked towards the door and pulled it open. She paused, turning back.

"I do love you, Sara," she told her.

Sara nodded. "I know. I love you, too."

Eleanor nodded and pursed her lips, closing the door quietly behind her.

Their exchanges usually happened this way – Eleanor and her daughter would finally reach a compromise, which was typically broken later by the latter. Her mother would grow angry and exasperated, but it would quickly fade and she would return to her usual gentle but firm self.

Sara rushed her bath and hopped out, wrapping a towel around herself and hurrying quickly to her chamber, where Nan was indeed waiting.

"Where have you been, child?" she asked, rolling her eyes and rising from Sara's bed.

"Don't start, mother's already been onto me about it," Sara grumbled in resignation, allowing Nan to dry her back. She'd already lost the argument to Nan about no longer being called a child, and there was no sense in picking another fight today.

She quickly scrambled into her dress and brushed her hair (with great effort) while Nan tightened the lacing on the back of her gown. Much to her mother's dismay, Sara insisted on keeping her hair quite short, so there was little that could be done with it. Not to be deterred, Nan pinned it with a barrette of fine silver so that it was not falling into Sara's eyes as it normally did.

She stood back to admire her work.

"Maker be praised," Nan sighed dramatically. "You actually look like a young woman instead of a scraggly boy."

Sara feigned an overly-bright smile and curtsied to Nan, saying in an exaggeratedly-high voice,

"So pleased to meet you, ser. The Maker was kind to send me such a fine knight this evening."

She was, Nan knew, mocking the young women at court, with whom Sara had never got on. As one of the most powerful and respected men in Fereldan, her father often entertained guests at feasts or balls, and Sara was forced to join at each festivity. On lucky nights, however, she usually managed to slip away to the practice yard to duel one or two of the young men who so openly boasted about their fighting skills. She had yet to lose, despite her slim frame and unusual fighting style.

Nan grinned in spite of herself.

"Alright, off with you," she said, trying to suppress a laugh as she pushed Sara out of the door. She turned back to straighten the room, shaking her head and smiling.

"By Andraste's sword, I swear I'll never live to see that girl settle down."

xxx

With only two guests present, dinner was a modest affair. To her father's right sat his good friend Arl Rendon Howe, whom Sara knew from his numerous visits to Highever. On his left was a man Sara met for the first time that evening – a Grey Warden by the name of Duncan. Intrigued by his focused demeanor and the idea of battle, Sara spent a good deal of the meal talking to him.

"I arrived this morning," he informed her when she asked how long he'd been in Highever. "Actually," he began, his tone changing into one of curiosity, "I saw you in the practice yard earlier – you are…an exceptional fighter," he said. "You would make a promising recruit."

Sara felt a thrill of excitement and opened her mouth to respond, but her father cut in, apparently having been eavesdropping.

"Now, Duncan," he said good-naturedly, "I know you're not thinking of asking my only daughter to join the Grey Wardens!"

"Not while there are others I can recruit without having to watch over my shoulder for your dagger," he answered, the joke awkwardly marred by his serious tone.

"Is joy the forbidden fruit of the Grey Wardens?" Sara whispered to her brother, who choked on the wine he'd been sipping as he tried to suppress a startled laugh.

Her father patted Duncan on the shoulder and rose to his feet, giving his goblet a tap. The table fell silent.

"The House of Cousland welcomes you, Grey Warden," he said, bowing his head to Duncan, "and of course, my good friend Arl Howe," he added, addressing him formally for the sake of propriety.

"After much discussion," he continued, turning back to the rest of the table, "it has been decided that Fergus," he nodded to Sara's brother, "will lead our men tonight to Ostagar to answer King Cailan's call to stop the Blight."

Sara whipped around and frowned at her brother, punching him with a knuckle.

"Ow!" he whispered.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she muttered fiercely – she had not realized he would be leaving so soon.

"How could I, little sister, while you were romping about the forest?" he asked.

Sara scowled and turned back to their father, who had raised an eyebrow at her as he went on.

"I will depart tomorrow with Arl Howe and his men, who seem to have gotten a bit carried away bidding farewell to their women and ale," he said, grinning at Rendon.

"Boys will be boys," the Arl rejoined casually.

"Indeed," the Teyrn agreed, nodding sagely. "Now, let us retire from dinner so that we may bid _our_ farewells and rest for the morrow."

He returned his cup to the table and pushed back his chair, stepping away. Rendon and Duncan followed suit, walking to the Teyrn's study.

"Can I go with you?" Sara asked suddenly, grabbing Fergus's arm.

"Maker's hairy-," he winced, "Sara, when did you get to be so strong?"

She ignored him and shook his arm,

"Fergus," she whined. He laughed at that one.

"What in Thedas, dear girl, makes you think that father would let you go?"

"I, but-" she began, floundering. She knew it was hopeless, but she was determined to ask the Teyrn anyway.

"And honestly," Fergus continued, undeterred by the minorly frightening glare on Sara's face, "do you really want to spend the first day of your 18th year fighting darkspawn?"

"Yes," she said without hesitation, although she had forgotten that her 18th birthday was only two days away.

"I should have expected as much," said Fergus, draining the last of his wine and standing. Sara stood and followed him to the study where their father was talking with Duncan and the Arl.

"Bryce," Rendon intoned. "Your family will be perfectly safe here. King Cailan requires all the able-bodied men in Fereldan to stop the darkspawn threat."

The Teyrn opened his mouth to respond, but he was distracted by the entrance of his children.

"Fergus," he welcomed him. "Rendon and I were just discussing the logistics of your departure."

"I want to go," Sara interjected stubbornly before anyone could speak. "With Fergus," she added, staring at her father, who looked quickly to his son.

Fergus threw up his hands in surrender, "I'm not getting into this," he said hastily, taking a step back.

Bryce sighed and drew his daughter outside of the study.

"Sara," he began, putting his hand up when she opened her mouth to protest. "No, listen to me."

She clamped her mouth shut and crossed her arms, staring at the Cousland crest embroidered on his tunic.

"I know you desperately want to be involved in this, pup," he began, "and undoubtedly your talents would be welcome on the battlefield." He was no fool – he had seen his daughter take down men twice her size with ease, darting about the practice yard like a skittish mouse, striking quickly with her wooden practice daggers. "But Highever needs you here. I need you here. Your _mother_," he insisted as she opened her mouth again, "needs you here."

"Duty first," she mumbled into the fabric of his tunic as he pulled her into a hug – it was the slogan of the House of Cousland.

She felt her father nod. "There is the daughter I raised," he said gently.

They pulled apart and she nodded dejectedly, finally raising her eyes to meet his.

"Now go bid farewell to Fergus. I'm sure he's eager to be off to battle a foe less frightening than you," he smiled at her, his brown eyes crinkling.

As if on cue, Fergus came out of the study, smiling sadly at Sara. They both knew well the dangers of his impending journey, and the thought that Sara might lose him was unbearable.

"The worst part of all this is having to say goodbye to my favorite sister," he whispered, pulling her into a hug.

"_Only_ sister," she mumbled back, but she wrapped her arms around him tightly.

After a few moments they broke apart, Sara growing teary. Blinking back hard, she stamped her foot and pinched him.

"Ow!" he exclaimed for the umpteenth time that night.

"If you get killed out there I'm going to hunt you down," she said sniffling, but the determination soon faded from her face. "I love you, brother."

"I love you too, sister," he responded. "I'll be sure to come back quickly – I've seen how good you are with that bow."

She nodded resolutely and trudged to her room where her mabari was waiting outside the door. Sighing, she scratched him behind the ears and said,

"Come on, Dani, let's go to bed and get this night over with."

xxx

_"Fergus please," she whined, dragging out the last word._

_ "You heard father, your duty is here," he responded firmly._

_ "You need me," Sara said matter-of-factly, but she felt her conviction wavering._

_ Fergus opened his mouth to respond, barking sharply._

_ "What?" she asked, confused._

_ He barked again, a growl starting in the back of his throat-_

She jerked, waking herself. Sitting upright, she peered into the darkness.

The barking and growling, obviously, was not coming from Fergus. But almost as disturbing as her dream was the way her mabari was staring intently at the door, growling fiercely.

She could hear distant shouts and the clang of metal. She swung her feet over the edge of her bed and stood, creeping to her door. Opening it slowly, she peeked through a small crack.

It was not as hard to see into the entry room outside her door as she had expected – there was the faint flickering of light from some unknown source.

_Maker, no_. She inhaled sharply, realizing the light source. _It's fire_.

Sara could smell the smoke and see the glow of the fire down the hall that led to the bedchambers. Shouting and clanging metal sounded more clearly now, but it was still somewhere off in the distance. Closing the door again, she retreated into her room and hurriedly pulled on her leathers. She flattened to her stomach and reached under her bed, pulling out a box. She opened the lid and removed the linen within carefully, revealing two very plain but very sharp daggers in leather scabbards. When they were last in Denerim, Fergus had sneaked her the money to purchase them, which she had done eagerly. She'd never used them in combat before – not that she'd ever been in actual combat. Her hands shook as she withdrew the twin weapons from the box and slid a belt through the scabbards before buckling it around her waist.

She stood, still trembling.

"Come Dani," she murmured to the hound who was pacing near her door. She pulled one of the daggers from its sheath and took a deep breath, twisting the doorknob.

The door flew open before she had a chance to pull it towards her. She jumped back as an armored man came running in, yelling and brandishing his sword.

Before she'd pulled her second dagger from her hip, Dani was upon him, tearing savagely at his throat. It was a matter of seconds before he was standing over the dead body, muzzle covered in blood. But Sara witnessed none of the fight because a second man had come charging in on the heel of the first.

He lunged at her, swinging his sword across towards her neck. She ducked gracefully and parried his next swing by crossing her daggers in front of her, catching his blade in the crux. The weapons were differently weighted than the wooden practice daggers she was used to, but she found that her training had been thorough.

She side-stepped neatly as he charged at her once more and drove her dagger into his lower back, skewering a kidney. He groaned and fell to the floor, twitching for a moment before his limbs stopped moving.

Sara breathed heavily, staring at the body before her. She'd just killed a man – taken a human life. Her world spun momentarily before she shook her head.

"Sara!" She heard the desperate cry and whirled around.

Her mother stood in the doorway, hand clamped over her mouth as she surveyed the room.

"Sara, what-" she began to ask breathlessly.

"What's happening?" she cried in panic before her mother could finish her question.

"Rendon Howe," she hissed, her question forgotten now. Eyes blazing, she continued, "He has betrayed us. His men took the castle shortly after Fergus left."

"How did they arrive so quickly?" Sara asked, her voice hushed but disconcerted.

"I know not." Eleanor shook her head. "They must have been hiding nearby..."

Her daughter did not hear the rest of her sentence. Sara swayed and closed her eyes, suddenly dizzy.

_The forest_.

The memory from earlier that day hit her with staggering force. The emptiness of the wood, Dani's unusual behavior…

When she reopened her eyes, her mother was looking at her, concerned.

"It's nothing," Sara murmured, shaking her head. "I just can't believe…"

But her stomach clenched with guilt and worry – could she have prevented this?

"We to leave quickly, but-" Eleanor faltered. "I do not know where your father is."

"We will find him," her daughter said, stepping over the man Dani had killed. "Come," she told the hound, but he was already on her heels.

"We must retrieve the Cousland sword." Her mother's eyes were wild. "Howe cannot have it."

Sara nodded – the family treasury was not far from her room, and her mother needed a weapon.

"Oriana and Oren," she gasped, turning towards Fergus's chambers. She bolted to the door and pushed it opened.

"_No_," she whispered, dropping to her knees by Oren's body. Her sister-in-law and nephew both lay slain on the floor, blood forming a halo around their distorted bodies.

"What kind of monster kills a child?" her mother whispered hoarsely from the doorway.

Sara drew a deep breath and stood, steeling herself.

"Rendon Howe will pay for this," she swore under her breath. "Come on," she said tersely, the panic driven from her mind and replaced by sheer rage.

Eleanor and Dani followed her back into the bigger room, hurrying quickly to the family treasury. When they entered, Sara stepped to an arms rack and retrieved a bow and quiver, slinging both over her back. She grabbed another set and handed them to her mother.

"Let's see the battlemaiden you once were," she told her grimly.

Eleanor only nodded as she took the weapons from her daughter.

"The key," she whispered, handing it to Sara.

She walked to the family chest and slipped the key into the lock, popping the lid.

The Cousland family sword rested in a scabbard wrapped in crimson velvet. Sara removed it delicately from the chest and turned to her mother.

"You should wear it," she said, handing it to her. Eleanor looked at her for a moment before reaching out and taking it, unbuckling her belt and sliding it through the sheath.

Sara turned back to close the chest but something caught her eye,

"What is this?" she said, ducking her head for closer inspection.

The corner of a mahogany box peeked out from the crimson velvet she'd inadvertently shifted when removing the sword. She pushed it out of the way and was surprised to see that a fine silver plate on top of the box was engraved with her initials.

Having re-buckled her belt, Eleanor looked over her shoulder.

"Oh," her face fell, seeing what Sara was looking at. "That was to be your gift for your eighteenth birthday, from-" she choked, "your father and me."

Sara turned back to the box and lifted the lid carefully.

Inside were two of the finest daggers she'd ever seen. The hilts were intricately adorned with the heraldic symbol of Cousland, a laurel wreath formed from wings, and the metal shined even in the dim light of the treasury. She gasped, lifting one gently for inspection.

"They're…beautiful," she breathed.

"Your father fought a hard battle," her mother smiled sadly, "and I finally gave in."

"Thank you," she whispered, looking at her mother through tears. "Thank you."

Eleanor nodded wordlessly, her smile now gone. Sara replaced her simple daggers with the Cousland weapons and pushed off her knees. As she turned to leave the door, her mother grabbed her arm.

"The larder," she whispered urgently, as if remembering something. Sara shook her head in confusion.

"There is a servant's exit – perhaps your father is there," she explained.

Sara nodded, gripping her new daggers tightly in each hand, testing the weight as she stepped out of the treasury.

Dani swept past her, barking fiercely. Sara turned just in time to duck and roll away from a massive sword. She could feel a breeze on her face as it cut cleanly through the air above her head.

She was on her feet in an instant, charging at the man who'd just attacked her, driving her daggers mercilessly into the gap at the bottom of his breastplate. It was not until he sagged against her that she realized she'd been screaming.

Sara turned to face the next of Howe's men, and she could see Eleanor out of the corner of her eye standing back and loosing arrows as Dani defended her.

As always, she relied on her quickness and slight frame to dart around her opponent. She danced just out of reach and stepped in quickly to stab the vulnerable areas of flesh that were not guarded by armor.

Between the three of them, they dispatched of Howe's men in fairly short order, making their way quickly towards the larder as the last body hit the ground. Sara was leading their small group, but as she turned down the hall that led to the larder, she stopped abruptly.

Eleanor at first could not identify why her daughter had halted so suddenly. The body before her looked like the dozens of others that littered the hallway, but then she noticed a patch of grey hair that was not slicked with blood. She looked closer, still unsure, but a sick feeling of dread gripped her stomach.

"Nan!" Sara cried, lunging towards the body. "Nan!" she called again, shaking her. But she must have known what Eleanor did – her caretaker, her second mother, was long dead.

"Sara, we must hurry," the Teyrna said with a trace of panic. It broke her heart to pull her daughter away from the body, but if they did not move quickly, she would soon be joining Nan and the Maker.

Sara allowed herself to be dragged back to her feet and followed Eleanor to the larder. When they entered, the horrible images of Nan were banished from her mind.

"Sara," she heard a voice call weakly as they entered. Her heart started as she peered around her mother's shoulder.

"Father," she said, sheathing her daggers and running to him.

"You've made it, pup," he croaked before descending into a fit of coughing. Sara's eyes widened as she took in the blood seeping from a gaping wound in his stomach.

"Oh Bryce," said Eleanor, her voice thick with tears.

"You have to escape, now, before they find us," the Teyrn insisted.

"We're not leaving you," Sara told him firmly, eyes blazing.

Eleanor grabbed her husband's hand tightly in her own and stroked his chin.

"You have to go," he insisted, closing his eyes at Eleanor's touch. "You have to reach Fergus and tell him of Howe's betrayal."

"I will not leave you!" she cried, her voice cracking.

"Your father is right," said a deep voice behind her. Sara turned and rose to her feet in one fluid motion, readying her daggers.

She relaxed only slightly when she registered who stood in the doorway.

"Duncan," her father wondered. "I thought you'd gone."

"I almost had," he admitted, "but as soon as I'd passed over the drawbridge, I heard shouting from inside the castle." He turned his attention back to Sara and Eleanor. "We must leave quickly," he insisted.

"With you here, we can carry father," began Sara excitedly, "he can escape with us if-"

"No, pup," said Bryce. "If you hope to put any distance between yourself and that snake of a man, you must leave me here."

"I will _not_!" she shouted. "I'll carry you if I must."

Her father gazed at her evenly.

"I will not come with you," he said, his tone indicating that there could be no argument. "And every moment you spend here trying to convince me brings me one moment closer to losing a daughter and a wife." He turned his eyes to Eleanor.

"I can help you both escape," said Duncan, looking between Eleanor and Sara, "but we must leave now."

"Bryce Cousland, you are a fool if you think I will leave you behind to die," Eleanor cut in.

"Mother, no," Sara croaked. "I cannot lose you. Either of you."

Her father descended into another violent coughing fit, flecks of blood coating his lips.

"I will stay and kill as many of that bastard's men as I can – it will give you more time-" Eleanor reasoned.

"No!" cried Sara, blinking back her tears.

She started and turned as the sounds of combat reached her ears – she could tell they were just outside the larder.

"Duncan, please," Bryce appealed.

The Grey Warden grabbed Sara's arm and tugged her to her feet.

"I will bring your daughter with me in return for her service as a Grey Warden."

The Teyrn blinked in disbelief. His eyes shifted quickly from Duncan to Sara and back. He supposed he had little choice…

"Very well," he said, bowing his head. "Please ensure that she makes it out alive."

The shouts grew louder in the hall.

"No!" screamed Sara, reaching for her parents as Duncan pulled her towards the servants' escape.

"We love you, pup!" her father called.

"Find Fergus," Eleanor said, grabbing her hand and rising to her feet. Slowly she unsheathed the Cousland sword. "And take this," she whispered, pressing it into Sara's hands before drawing her bow from her back.

"Mother," she choked, but she was already being forced out through the hidden exit, Dani at her heels.


	9. An Unexpected Introduction

_*Disclaimer: anything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1 – An Unexpected Introduction<strong>

These were not the woods that bordered the Cousland estate.

Sara had spent countless days in the forest that surrounded her home, ranging with Dani and climbing trees – she and Fergus had even camped overnight several times. But there was something foreboding about the Korcari Wilds that transformed her skin to gooseflesh and made her hair stand on end.

"Such a cheery place," drawled a voice next to her. "Someday I'm going to build a summer home here."

She and the other two recruits turned to look at Alistair. Having only met the Warden several hours earlier, she had yet to make up her mind about him and his almost incessant jokes, some of which made her cringe visibly.

_"One good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together," said the young man brightly. A mage stormed past Sara angrily as she approached the landing.  
>"What was that about?" she asked, assuming that the person before her was Alistair, the junior Warden who would be assisting her in the Joining.<br>He shook his head and looked down.  
>"The Revered Mother has a twisted sense of humor, sending me after him as if he doesn't know I'm a Templar."<br>"A Templar," she repeated. "You hunt mages?" Sara frowned, now unsure if he was indeed the Warden.  
>Alistair threw his hands in the air. "Hunt? Ha," he laughed weakly, looking around to make sure no mages were listening in. "No, no. Well, not anymore," he added quickly. "Now I hunt darkspawn. Or rather, they hunt me," he shrugged. "We haven't met – I take it you're the new recruit that Duncan brought. Sara, I believe?"<br>She nodded. "Alistair."  
>"Pleasure to meet you, and on such a beautiful day!" He held his arms open.<br>Sara felt a raindrop on her forehead.  
>"Right, well," she said, "let's get this over with then."<em>

She sighed quietly and drew her daggers, thankful at least that Dani was with them.

As soon as the thought entered her mind, the hound uttered a low growl, stalking towards the trees ahead. Out of the mist emerged a large wolf, followed by another, and then another. Soon a whole pack had appeared, growling viciously at their group.

Sara tightened her grip on her daggers and joined Dani, Alistair and Jory, a knight from Redcliffe, as they met the animals head on. The third recruit, Daveth, a thief and all-around shady man from Denerim, rained arrows from a nearby hill.

After a few brief but intense minutes of fighting, the last wolf fell to the ground with a slump and the group continued on. They moved ahead quickly but cautiously – Sara did not want to rely only on the Warden's claimed ability to sense darkspawn that populated this wood.

They picked their way carefully through a copse of trees and emerged on the other side to a horrifying sight.

A dozen or more bodies lay strewn about the clearing, some draped over wagons, some impaled on their own weapons, and still others lying in pieces. From their armor, Sara could tell that they were among the groups of men sent into the Wilds to hunt darkspawn. To her relief, their breastplates were not stamped with two crossed spears, the symbol of Highever, but she had been informed upon arriving at Ostagar that her brother and his men had been one of the groups sent into the forest.

The thought of his dead body made her gut clench. Images of Oriana, Oren, and Nan, mangled and bloodied, forced bile up her throat and into her mouth. She grabbed her stomach and doubled-over, retching as she held a tree trunk for support.

When there was nothing left in her stomach, she straightened, wiping across her mouth with the back of a gloved hand. She drew in the moist air of the Wilds deeply and slowly, struggling to clear her vision.

"What?" asked Daveth loudly. "Ent you never seen a dead body before?"

Sara lunged at him, daggers flashing. Her eyes were wild.

"_I'm about to see another_," she snarled, but Alistair moved rapidly, closing his hands on her arms. He struggled to hold her back, surprised by her strength. He could feel her muscles straining as she reached toward Daveth, who was now cowering behind Jory.

"Sara, please," said Alistair quietly.

"I didn't mean nothin' by it!" exclaimed Daveth indignantly. "I only-"

"I _could_ let her go," the Templar threatened, tilting his head in Sara's direction.

The thief clamped his mouth shut and Alistair could feel the girl relax slightly in his grip.

She shrugged his hands off angrily.

"Let's go," she snapped, ignoring the bodies around her as she stepped through the clearing.

They walked in silence for several minutes when Alistair held up his hand.

"Wait," he said tersely, gazing ahead. "Darkspawn," he told them, his eyes narrowing. "Not many, maybe five or six."

Sara bit the inside of her cheek and fell into step behind him.

They were upon the group of darkspawn in fewer than fifty paces, though she was able to smell them before she could see them. Although there were only a half dozen, as Alistair had claimed, their stench was powerful - a rotted, faintly sweet smell of spoiled flesh.

And they were strong. Sara had to work harder than she did against Howe's men to drive her daggers through their thick hides. They bled less profusely, but their blood was thick and almost black, and her blades were soon covered in the stuff.

After they'd disposed of the last genlock ("Genlock," Alistair had informed her, pointing to the smaller body. "The larger ones are hurlocks."), she wiped her blades on the grass, cleaning them as best she could before slipping them into their sheaths.

She withdrew a small vial and pressed it to one of the gashes in the nearest darkspawn corpse, letting the viscous blood flow slowly into the glass container. She stoppered the bottle and slipped it back into a small pouch at her hip. Once Jory and Daveth had done the same, Alistair motioned for them to continue on in search of the Warden's cache.

_"Return with three vials of darkspawn blood and find the missing, ancient, and probably disintegrated treaties. Got it," she'd told Duncan impatiently. She was eager to fight and more than ready to get underway. She had no idea how they were supposed to find this cache, but that damn Warden Duncan had insisted that it was necessary to retrieve the treaties held within. Sara supposed they would be useful – the Wardens would need help from everyone in Fereldan, and having documents that bound the mages, dwarves, and Dalish elves to service was a good guarantee._

Finding the cache had not been as difficult as she'd thought. The most difficult part had been killing the hurlock emissary that was among the darkspawn blocking their path. Sara had exhausted herself dodging and rolling out of the way of the bolts he sent at her relentlessly. Finally one of Daveth's arrows had found a home in its neck, stopping it long enough for Dani to jump in and finish the job.

"He nearly singed my eyebrows off!" Alistair whined, feeling to make sure there was still at least a little hair left.

Sara rolled her eyes and approached the cache cautiously. It was battered and broken, and when she knelt down, she realized that she didn't need to lift the lid to see that nothing was inside.

"And what is this?"

She jumped, raising her eyes to the source of the unfamiliar voice.

A tall and thin dark-haired woman leaned casually against one of the ruined pillars that surrounded the cache. She uncrossed her arms and took several steps forward, continuing,

"Thieves, perhaps? Or simply _adventurers_?" Her disdain was unmistakable. "Either way, you seek to take something that does not belong to you."

Sara rose to her feet, hands drifting automatically to the daggers at her waist.

"We are neither," she said, raising her chin. "This cache belongs to the Grey Wardens. We have returned to seek the treaties within."

"Grey Wardens, then?" the woman asked, her eyes flitting amongst the group. "Well, you will not find your treaties here."

"What are you talking about? Where are they?" asked Alistair in an accusatory tone.

Her golden eyes turned to him in an unwavering stare.

"Gone," she said tersely.

Sara shook her head in confusion.

"I'm sorry," she began slowly, "but who are you? And…where did you come from?"

"You may call me Morrigan, if you must." The edge in her voice suggested that she was growing bored with these questions. "I live here, in the Wilds."

Sara heard a gasp from behind her and turned to see Daveth's eyes growing wide.

"She's the Witch of the Wilds, she is." He took a step back. "She's going to turn us all into toads!"

She turned around to look at Morrigan, afraid that Daveth's idiocy was going to get them killed, but she was surprised to see that the witch, if she was one, simply looked at him with her eyebrows slightly raised.

She could hear Jory muttering heatedly to Daveth,

"If she really is a witch do you want to make her angry with your crazy accusations?"

But Alistair latched onto the thief's claim.

"You took them, didn't you?" he demanded. "The treaties! You're some kind of, some kind of…sneaky witch-thief!"

Sara rounded on him,

"Will you shut _up_?" she pleaded. She turned quickly back to Morrigan.  
>"I am Sara," she said, bowing her head slightly. If this woman was dangerous, as Sara predicted she may be, it would be best to at least attempt politeness, especially after all the damage Daveth and Alistair had undoubtedly done. "May I ask how you know of our treaties?"<p>

Morrigan gazed at her, the faintest glimmer of curiosity in her eyes.

"You may," she responded after a moment. "My mother took them from here years ago. You should be thankful," she intoned, seeing Alistair open his mouth. "Without her magic, they would be long decayed," she glanced pointedly at the cache.

Sara closed her eyes, cursing the Wardens before her for making the damn treaties so hard to find.

"Can you take us to her?" she asked after a moment, reopening her eyes.

"Now that is a sensible idea," Morrigan responded. "'Tis unsurprising that it comes from the only woman among you," she added, lifting her gaze to look between the three men.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Alistair whispered in her ear.

"It's the only choice we have," she responded, not taking her eyes from Morrigan.

"Follow me," she said curtly, turning around and heading deeper into the Wilds.

xxx

They had been walking for a quarter hour, Sara guessed, when they came upon a small hut by a pond.

"Stay here," Morrigan commanded, entering the hut alone.

She was an odd person, the girl had noticed. Where Sara would say "please" or "thank you," such niceties seemed to not even occur to the witch. She spoke sparingly and usually only to offer a biting response to Daveth or Alistair's comments. Jory, Sara noted, was the only one apart from her who appeared to have enough sense to remain quiet.

After a few moments, Morrigan emerged from the hut bearing some weathered-looking scrolls.

"Thank you," Sara said as she took them.

"'Twas mother's doing," she responded simply. "She is away at the moment, which is fortunate for you," she said, looking at Daveth and Alistair.

Sara nodded. An awkward moment passed before she looked around the Wilds uncertainly and said,

"Would you…mind telling us how to find our way back to Ostagar?"

An uncomfortably long time elapsed before Morrigan finally sighed and said,

"Come with me, I will show you."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Bit of a shorter chapter this time. I'm trying to mostly cover the beginning events while also not just rehashing the gameplay; I'm anxious to get to a place where I can dedicate more text to character development. And to my reviewers:_

_snippetcentric: Glad you laughed! I laughed while I was writing it. And then my heart broke a little bit.._  
><em>surfergirl3537: Yay, another fan! I hope I keep you entertained.<em>  
><em>FiveThreeTen: Yeah, that always creeped me out. What a bastard.<em>  
><em>ladyklee: Haha, yes, Alistair - I think his adorable awkwardness will be fun to work with. And re: the PC guilt, I agree. I think it was a bit underplayed in the game.<em>


	10. And Then There Were Two

_Anything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2 – And Then There Were Two<strong>

As they approached the gates that led out of the Wilds, Sara turned back to thank Morrigan, without whom they would have undoubtedly been lost.

The witch, however, was nowhere to be seen. She frowned as she briefly noticed a raven gliding away from them, dipping through the trees of the forest.

"Morrigan?" she called out, knowing before she'd finished saying the name that no response would come.

She sighed and turned back, following Alistair, Daveth and Jory into the campsite. She looked down at Dani, who blinked up at her wearily. Sara bit her lip and knelt down.

"Are you okay boy?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern. She'd noticed that the hound's energy had been rapidly slipping – he had not even growled at Morrigan's sudden appearance at the cache.

The mabari whined pathetically in response, and Sara felt a pang in her chest.

"Come on," she said, rising and heading into the camp.

Alistair was waiting for her at the gate with a puzzled look.

"Something's wrong with Dani," she muttered, making her way to the kennel master with the Warden in tow.

"'ello there," the kennel master said as they approached.

"Ser," responded Sara, inclining her head. "I think my hound may be ill."

The kennel master knelt down and took Dani's massive head in his hands. He lifted the hound's lips to examine his teeth and gums and inspected his eyes.

"'e's been fightin' darkspawn, ent 'e?" he asked, looking up at Sara.

She nodded, a worry line creasing her brow.

The kennel master sighed and straightened up.

"The taint," he said. "Darkspawn blood. If 'e got the proper medicine, then maybe…" the kennel master trailed off.

"Where can you get this medication?" Sara asked, a swell of panic filling her chest. Dani was the only family she had left. She looked down at the hound stretched out helplessly on the ground.

"There's a plant I can use," he began, "but you'll 'ave to go back in the forest..." He looked at her uncertainly.

"What plant?" she snapped impatiently.

The kennel master described it to her in detail, but before he could tell her where to find it, Alistair chimed in.

"Like this?" the Warden asked, pulling a white flower from inside one of his bracers.

"Aye, that's the one."

"Why do you-" Sara and the kennel master began asking simultaneously.

"I picked it while you were looking in the cache," Alistair explained. She looked at him, bewildered.

"I thought it was pretty!" he exclaimed defensively, his voice cracking, but Sara could only stare at him. "Is that a _crime_?" he asked sensitively, a flush of red creeping up his neck and ears.

"Right, well," began the kennel master awkwardly, taking the flower. "I'll get 'im fixed up in no time." He nodded at them and led Dani into the kennel.

"Well," said Alistair after a moment, puffing up his chest in the manliest fashion he could conceive. "We should prepare for the Joining."

Eyes still wide with bewilderment, she fell into step behind him as they headed toward Duncan.

xxx

"We say only a few words before beginning the ritual," Duncan told the recruits gathered before him. "To honor those we have lost."

"Lost in battle or…lost in the ritual?" Jory asked hesitantly.

Sara swallowed. Alistair had told her before they'd gathered that the danger of the ritual was one of the reasons its details were a well-guarded secret.

"Both," responded Duncan. "Alistair, if you would," he nodded to the junior Warden.

Sara could feel Daveth grow tense beside her as Alistair recited the introduction.

"Step forward, Daveth," Duncan instructed, offering a massive silver chalice.

"Drink it?" he asked, gazing at the cup uncertainly.

The senior Warden nodded.

Sara could see Daveth's chest rising and falling rapidly.

"W-what is it?" he stammered, taking the chalice from Duncan.

"It is the blood you collected. During the Joining, we drink the darkspawn blood to master its taint."

Sara's mouth went dry. She looked sharply to Jory and Daveth. Both of their mouths hung open, but after a moment, the thief lifted the chalice to his lips, drinking deeply.

He handed the cup to Alistair and wiped his mouth. Sara looked at him uncertainly, but allowed herself a small exhalation of relief.

Suddenly, Daveth dropped to his knees, clutching the sides of his head. What began as a moan of pain escalated quickly to an almost inhuman shriek.

"I am sorry, Daveth," said Duncan, bowing his head as the thief's body writhed on the ground in agony.

A small sob escaped Sara's mouth when Daveth's body went rigid just before it finally stopped twitching. She finally tore her eyes away when Jory broke the silence.

"No," he whispered. "No," he said more loudly, drawing his sword. "I have a wife, a child-"

"There is no turning back," said Duncan firmly as he stepped toward him.

""You ask too much." Jory raised his sword and swung at him.

Before Sara could look away, Duncan had drawn his own weapon and caught the knight's sword by its hilt. He drove his dagger into Jory's gut.

"I am sorry, Jory," he whispered, catching his body as it slumped against him and laying it gently on the ground.

He turned.

"Sara."

Her heart skipped a beat. She looked first at the chalice in Alistair's hand and then at the bloodied weapon at Duncan's side. Stepping forward, she took the cup from Alistair's outstretched grasp. When she glanced up at him, he held her eyes, his expression somewhere between worry and encouragement.

She inclined her head in an almost imperceptible nod and pressed the chalice to her mouth, taking a deep breath. The thought that it might be her last flickered through her mind briefly, and a sort of peace edged in through the anxiety as she considered the possibility of seeing her family soon. Twisted though she knew it was, the idea of being reunited with them, even in death, was…alluring.

She tipped the cup and tilted her head back. The warm liquid flooded her mouth and slid down her throat. It had the coppery-sweet taste of blood that she recognized, but there was an almost overwhelming bitterness that she hadn't expected. She nearly gagged as she passed the chalice back to Alistair.

For a moment she stood still, trying not to vomit, but then the pain tore through her. She dropped to her knees and clawed at her head, just as Daveth had done. It was as if her insides had caught fire – she felt her organs twisting and bones shaking. Her vision began to fill with black spots as the pain forced all else from her mind.

And then it was over.

xxx

When she awoke, both Duncan and Alistair were standing over her looking worried. The latter exhaled loudly.

"You're alright," he said, his relief evident.

"Barely," she muttered, pressing a hand to her forehead. "There was, something, a dream, I think," she clenched her eyes shut, trying to remember what she'd dreamt of, but it slipped away before she could figure out what it was.

"I had those dreams too," Alistair said. "Nightmares, more like."

Sara rose shakily to her feet, suddenly remembering what had happened to the other two recruits.

"You," she whirled on Duncan. "You killed Jory!"

"There was nothing that could be done," he told her sadly.

"He had a family!" she said, her voice hoarse.

"You are bound to service the moment you become a recruit," said Duncan firmly. "It can be no other way."

"Sara," Alistair cut in gently before she could continue her assault. She looked at him and saw an amulet dangling from his hand. "Each Warden is given one of these after the Joining," he said, holding it out to her, "so they can remember those who did not make it this far."

She took it wordlessly from him and stared at the necklace in her hands. It was such a small token, such a tiny piece of metal, to represent the two lives that were taken only a short while ago. She nodded at him without meeting his eyes before she ducked her head and pulled it on.

"Now," began Duncan as she straightened back up, "you must sleep. The Joining is an exhausting process, and the darkspawn are nearly upon us." His eyes flickered briefly to Alistair. "Tomorrow morning we will join Teyrn Loghain and King Cailan to discuss the strategy of tomorrow night's battle. Alistair will show you your tent." He bowed and turned to walk away, pausing after he'd taken only a couple steps.

"You did well tonight, Warden," he said, addressing her by her new station for the first time.

She stared at his retreating figure, a mixture of emotions flooding through her.

"Your tent is here," Alistair said, interrupting her thoughts. He led her to a small tent that had been erected near the campfire. "There's a bedroll and a change of clothes. The inns were all booked up, so…" he trailed off awkwardly.

She knew that he was trying to make her feel better, or at least take her mind off the horrible things that had taken place only hours before, but he was unsuccessful.

"Thank you," she whispered before ducking into her tent.

When she stepped inside, she saw an unexpected visitor. "Dani!" she exclaimed. Her hound was lying lazily across the bedroll as if it were his own. He bounced up happily when she entered, apparently having made a full recovery while she was busy with the Joining. "I'm so glad you're alright," she murmured, pressing her face against his neck and wrapping her arms around him. Climbing into her bedroll, she patted the space next to her.

"Let's get some sleep."

xxx

"Thank the Maker you're here!" panted a guard as he ran down the hill towards Sara and Alistair.

"What's going on?" called Alistair, rushing to meet him outside the Tower of Ishal.

"Darkspawn everywhere!" he cried, looking back at the tower. "Everyone inside is dead," his voice cracked. "I don't know where they came from!"

"Come on," said Alistair, pulling on Sara's arm. "We have to light the beacon quickly."

She ran after him towards the front door of the tower, trying to shake the pounding headache that had been plaguing her since the battle began.

_"What?" Alistair cried indignantly. "We're not even going to be fighting?"_

_ "The beacon must be lit at the proper time," Duncan intoned. "The two of you will ensure that nothing goes wrong."_

_ Alistair pouted and Sara rolled her eyes. She didn't care so much about being in the thick of the battle, but she wanted _something_ to do. She hated being idle, as being idle gave her time to think._

_ "Where is this Tower of Ishal anyway?" she asked._

_ "Where we first entered Ostagar," Duncan informed her. "Across the gorge."_

_ "So basically, we run up to the top, light the beacon, and enjoy the show?" she asked drily._

_ "Basically," Duncan replied evenly, either genuinely not bothered by her sarcastic and dismissive tone or refusing to take her bait._

_ Alistair continued pouting._

"Weren't you worried you wouldn't get any action?" she asked after they'd dispatched a small group of darkspawn, crinkling her nose as she wiped the gooey blood from her blades.

"Hey, yeah! I guess you're right!" he responded brightly. "There's a silver lining after all! Although," his eyes darkened, "the fact that there are darkspawn in the Tower…ahead of the horde." He frowned up at the doors as they approached.

"So?" Sara asked.

"Well, darkspawn aren't the best tacticians," he said. "And this seems planned."

He pushed the door open and they entered.

The ceilings were massively high, but any beauty the ruined tower held was marred by the blood and bodies littering the ground. The Wardens and Dani picked their way across the first floor and hurried up the stairs at the other end of the entrance hall.

The second floor looked much the same as the first, and despite the guard's vehement warning, they encountered no darkspawn as they made their way toward the third floor. Corpses were strewn about, darkspawn and human alike, but they didn't encounter a single living creature on the third floor either.

Climbing the stairs to the top of the tower, Sara began to relax the iron grip she'd held on her daggers the entire time. The silence of the Tower had set her on edge and she'd been expecting an ambush around every corner. The anticipation of battle had left her restless and tense, and she hoped that they'd light the beacon quickly enough to be able to return to the field and aid the other Grey Wardens-

Alistair pushed open the door to the top of the Tower and froze.

It was undoubtedly the largest creature Sara had ever seen. Hunched over a pile of dead soldiers, it casually bit the head off one of the bodies and tossed the rest aside.

"Oh," Alistair squeaked.

The troll's massive head swiveled to look at them, its beady eyes taking in every inch of their soft flesh.

Dani crouched low and growled as Alistair hoisted up his shield.

"I'll distract it and you try to take it down from behind," he muttered to Sara out of the side of his mouth.

Her eyes swept the edge of the room and fell on a tall pile of rocks.

"Keep his back to the left wall," she said, melting into the shadows as Alistair and Dani stepped forward.

She crept quickly and carefully through the darkness behind the pillars that encircled the center of the room, forming a sort of morbid battle arena. She clung to the walls, keeping out of the troll's line of sight.

True to her instruction, Alistair moved about the room so that the beast's back was to the pile of stone she'd noticed earlier. She tucked her daggers back into their sheaths and begin climbing, finding it difficult to keep quiet as several of the stones slid down the pile.

But the troll seemed too engaged with Alistair and Dani to hear the tumbling rocks. She made it to the top undetected and withdrew her daggers silently. Alistair was edging the troll back towards her slowly while dodging its lunging grasps, and when it was just close enough, she leapt.

She'd jumped from trees before, and even once from one of the high walls encircling her family's estate in Highever, but never before had she done it with the intent of landing directly on a creature bent on killing her.

She landed hard on the back of its neck, digging her daggers into its shoulders to keep from flying off. It roared, rearing its head back and trying to shake her. Just before it succeeded, it dropped helplessly on one knee. Glancing down briefly, Sara could see that Dani had his jaw firmly locked on the back of the troll's ankle and was not letting go.

It was her turn to scream now as she reached around its neck and plunged her daggers in, tearing them out sideways.

The troll's roar caught in its throat, a gurgling sound escaping from its mouth as it slammed to the ground, the impact casting Sara off its shoulders.

She rolled away from the body and was still.

"Sara!" Alistair cried, dropping his sword and shield as he ran towards her.

She sat up gingerly and groaned. When she saw the troll's bloodied body lying motionless, she made a noise of surprise,

"Oh. We did it."

"_You_ did it," he insisted. "You were amazing!"

"I had help," she said, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her to her feet. She smiled at Dani and patted his head, "Didn't I, boy?"

"Hey!" Alistair said indignantly.

She smiled at him before growing serious,

"Where's this beacon?"

"Oh!" he exclaimed, sprinting to the opposite edge of the tower and taking up a torch. He held it to a massive brazier and a huge fire sprang to life within.

He set down the torch and approached the edge of the Tower with Sara, peering down to where Loghain's men waited. Sara crinkled her brow in confusion – from the way his men were moving, it looked like-

"He's- he's _retreating_!" cried Alistair. "Why is he retreating?"

But before Sara could wonder aloud, she felt an immense pressure in her head again. They heard pounding footsteps and doors flying open behind them.

The Grey Wardens whirled around and were met by a hailstorm of arrows from darkspawn archers. Alistair pushed Sara to the ground and threw up his shield, but not before she'd taken an arrow in each shoulder. She struggled to pull her daggers from her waist, but as she tried to rise to her feet, she took another arrow in the gut.

She cried out in pain and looked to Alistair. He was falling more rapidly than her, having blocked the bulk of the assault. Her vision grew hazy as blood seeped from her wounds. Knees buckling, she collapsed on the ground, fighting to lift her head before everything grew dark.


	11. More Crazy

_Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3 – More Crazy<strong>

"That's…very kind of you, Flemeth," began Sara uncertainly, her eyes flitting between Morrigan and her mother. Alistair's eyes bulged incredulously at her use of the word "kind."

"More like 'sick and twisted'," he muttered under his breath.

"But if Morrigan does not wish to join us," Sara continued more loudly, "I would not force it upon her."

Her noble upbringing had instilled in her the knowledge that sometimes saying what one _actually_ thought, in this case, 'I know you saved us and everything, but pushing your unusual and contentious daughter on us is a bit much,' was unwise.

"Nonsense," said Flemeth, waving her hand. "Unless the world has changed very much in the past ten seconds, I am correct in saying that you will need all of the help you can get."

Sara sighed – there was no denying that. In the span of several hours, Loghain had left King Cailan and the Wardens to be slaughtered by darkspawn, and she and Alistair had gone from being the two most junior to the two most senior Wardens in Fereldan. She could not even begin to wonder how they were going to not only convince the mages, dwarves, and Dalish elves that they _were_ Wardens, but also that they were obligated to aid them.

"Very well," said Sara, rubbing her face with her hands. "I suppose you have nothing to say about this?" she asked, now looking to Morrigan.

"As if 'twould matter at all," the witch remarked. "Let me…get my things," she said in a resigned voice before she re-entered the hut.

"Flemeth could have asked us to be her slaves for life but noo-oo," whispered Alistair, "she had to force _her_ upon us instead." His distaste was almost palpable.

Sara nodded. Alistair, she'd noticed, had a flair for the dramatic, but he'd inadvertently hit upon something that bothered her very much indeed – namely, why did Flemeth insist so strongly that her only daughter join them on this life-threatening and most likely life-ending journey?

Morrigan exited the hut, looking no happier than Sara felt.

"Let us move along then," she said. "I suggest a small village north of here to purchase supplies. Unless, of course, 'tis your wish that I do not share my suggestions."

Before Alistair could open his mouth and take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Sara raised her voice and said,

"No, please share your advice. We are unfamiliar with this region."

Morrigan once again looked at her with that flicker of curiosity, but only nodded and turned away from them, heading into the Wilds once more.

xxx

"You migh' not wanna go in there," a dusty-looking fellow outside of Dane's Refuge advised them.

"Why's that, friend?" asked Sara, toning down her normally formal way of speaking in an attempt to blend in. They'd found out the hard way – that is, when attempting to threaten their way past a group of bandits by saying that they were Grey Wardens – that Loghain, in an attempt to strengthen his lies that the Wardens killed King Cailan, had placed a hefty bounty on their heads.

"Soldiers," he answered. "Loghain's, I reckon. Mean' to aid the refugees, but," he lowered his voice and looked around, "they ent doin' much but drinkin' and threatenin' folks. Killed a man for lookin' at them wrong," he added, eyebrows raised.

The Warden frowned – she wasn't one to take stock in gossip, but even the most outrageous rumors often had a grain of truth.

"Well-taken," she said, nodding. "Unfortunately, we've got to see about some rooms. Thanks for the warning."

"Don' mention it," he responded, tipping his head. "G'day."

Sara never intended to actually look for rooms at Dane's. Lothering was bursting at the seams with refugees fleeing the darkspawn that were rapidly advancing through the Wilds, and she suspected there would be no room at the inn even if they'd been interested. But if what this man said was true and Loghain's cronies were exercising their power in bloody ways…well, she didn't take kindly to that.

The four of them entered the tavern and were met head-on by the stench of an establishment long overcrowded. Working hard to ignore the smell, she stepped farther into the inn as Morrigan made retching sounds in the background. She spotted a group of armored soldiers pushing around a rather helpless-looking man as they grinned lecherously at a woman next to him.

Sara felt an almost uncontrollable rage flare up within her. She reached out and tapped the soldier nearest her on the shoulder.

"Is there a problem here?" she asked, working hard to keep her overwhelming anger from her voice.

"'ere's another lookin' the join the fun!" the solder called out to his fellows. "An' what's your name sweetheart?" He stumbled as he attempted to grope her. Sara stepped back, crinkling her nose. He reeked of alcohol and something else unpleasant that she couldn't identify.

She heard the subtle yet distinct sound of Alistair drawing his sword as he stepped to her side.

"Careful where you place your hands," he said quietly, his eyes flashing. Sara laid a hand on his arm and gave him a hard look. He met her eyes and relaxed slightly, clenching his jaw but refusing to look away from the captain.

She turned back to soldier and opened her mouth, but before she could speak, another man cut in.

"Oi!" he yelled, "Captain!"

An armored man near the bar looked up and began approaching them.

"Ent we been asking all around town for a pair jus' like this?" he asked as the Captain approached.

"Indeed we have," he murmured, looking between Alistair and Sara. "It appears that the people of Lothering would rather harbor traitors to the late king than serve their own kingdom!" he called, spreading his arms toward the people in the inn. Silence fell on the room.

"Wardens," he growled, turning back to the group. "You are about to make me a very rich man."

Sara stepped back and dropped her hands instinctively to her daggers. She once again heard the quiet hiss of Alistair's sword and saw, from the corner of her eye, a small fireball appear in Morrigan's hand.

"Wardens? Ha," she laughed weakly. "No, you're mistaken, we've- we're…" she sighed. "Damnit."

She drew her daggers and lunged forward, but she was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a young woman.

"Wait," she said, stepping between the captain and the Wardens' group.

Sara drew up short, bewildered.

"The darkspawn have taken enough of our people," she said, her voice colored by an Orlesian accent. "More bloodshed is not the answer."

Sara eyed the redheaded woman suspiciously – she was wearing Chantry robes, which she supposed accounted for her naivety.

"Please," the sister added, looking earnestly at Sara.

Sara lowered her daggers slowly and stepped out of her fighting stance.

"Thank you," said the redhead, bowing slightly to both parties. "I am Leliana," she told the Wardens' group, "a lay-sister of the Chantry."

"Enough of this," spat the guard captain. "Loghain has ordered that any Wardens be taken to Denerim on charges of treason," he looked threateningly at Alistair and Sara, "dead or alive."

He turned back to his group. "Capture the Wardens and kill the others," he said, drawing his sword.

Sara raised her daggers but was distracted by that damn redhead once more.

"Weapon!" she called frantically.

"Pack!" Sara responded, throwing herself at the captain.

While Sara battled the captain, Alistair and the others disposed of his men. Only after he'd lost all but two of his company, the captain dropped his sword and held up his shield.

"Wait!" he called, panting. "We surrender. I do not wish any more of my men to die," he added, looking regretfully at the bodies of the other soldiers.

"You do not wish-" Sara began in a choked voice. She inhaled deeply and continued in a strangled whisper. "_You do not wish any more of your men to die?_" she asked incredulously. In three long strides, Sara pushed him back against the wall unforgivingly, pressing against his breastplate with one hand and holding a dagger to his neck with the other.

"When has that _ever_ made a difference!" she screamed at him, pressing her dagger harder. A drop of blood trickled down his neck where her weapon had pierced his skin.

"Warden," a voice said gently in her ear. She turned to see the sister looking at her with heart-breaking earnest in her clear, blue eyes. She laid her hand on Sara's arm, "These men have surrendered. There is nothing to be gained from killing them." Leliana could see the muscles working in the Warden's jaw as she turned back and stared at the guard captain, her face inches from his.

"Fine," she growled, the tension in her shoulders releasing visibly as she slowly relaxed her hold on her weapon. Leliana's hand fell from her arm as she stepped back and shrugged it off.

"Thank you," she said gently.

"I did not do it for you," Sara told her bluntly, her eyes burning. "But because enough Fereldan blood has already been shed." She turned back to the captain. "The darkspawn are the threat, not the Wardens. And _you_-" and idea came to her. "You will take a message to Loghain."

"Y-yes," stammered the captain, pressing a hand to the cut on his neck.

"Tell him the Wardens know what _really_ happened," she said, the grip on her dagger tightening once more, "and he cannot run from justice."

"Yes, Serah," the captain bowed at Sara. "We will inform him at once. Men!" he called to those of his company still alive. They had left the inn by the time Sara re-sheathed her dagger.

She walked to the bar and sank gratefully onto one of the stools.

"I need a drink," she muttered to Alistair as he sat next to her, Dani on her other side. Morrigan was, as usual, placing as much distance between herself and the rest of the group as possible.

"Tell me about it," he sighed. "I can't believe that snake, putting a bounty on our heads. The Wardens killed King Cailan? Is he mad?"

"He may very well be," she began. "He certainly-"

Sara felt a hand on her shoulder and groaned inwardly. Somehow she knew who would be standing there when she turned around. She looked over her shoulder and found, much to her dissatisfaction, that she was right.

"This belongs to you," the sister said, holding out the dagger she'd taken from Sara's pack.

"Thanks," she muttered, taking it from her. "Where does a sister learn to fight like that anyway?" she asked half-heartedly as she signaled to the barman.

"I was not always in the Chantry," she answered evasively.

Sara grunted noncommittally as she lifted the pint she'd just been served to her lips.

"I- I know why you're here," she began hesitantly. "Your quest, I mean. Fighting the Blight."

"I thought we were on a _secret_ mission," Alistair whined to Sara in a hushed voice.

"I wish to join you. I believe I'm meant to," Leliana continued, either having not heard Alistair's comment or ignoring it entirely. Sara continued to stare blankly behind the bar as she nursed her pint. The sister took a deep breath. "The Maker sent me a vision instructing me to help you."

Sara choked into her mug, snorting a large and quite painful amount of mead into her nose. She looked sharply to Alistair, whose eyebrows were threatening to disappear into his hair.

"More crazy?" he asked, breaking the awkward silence. "I thought we were all full-up."

"In any case," Morrigan cut in acidly, apparently having been listening the entire time, "you have certainly fulfilled our quota for idiocy. 'Twould not be wise to push that boundary any further."

Sara wiped the copious amounts of mead that had shot out of her nose from her face.

"We…_appreciate_ the offer," she said, finding it hard to hide the derision from her voice, "but I'm afraid we're going to have to decline."

"You've seen me fight," continued Leliana, her voice nearly begging Sara now. "I can be a useful ally. I'm meant to help you," she repeated.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Son of a-" she began exasperatedly.

"Maker," Alistair cut her off.

"_Not_ what I was going to say," she told him. She turned to Leliana, "Those men were going to kill you outright for trying to be peaceful, and still you stayed my hand," she said. "You do realize that our 'quest'," the last word was dripping with condescension, "will involve a great deal of killing."

Leliana nodded resolutely. "And I am willing to help you do it."

Sara sighed and drained the rest of her mug.

"Fine," she said, ignoring Morrigan's protests and pushing away from the bar. She jerked her head towards the door. "But if you become a liability," she paused and looked at the sister with steely eyes, "we will leave you behind."

Leliana gave a small nod and cast her eyes to the ground.

"And hold onto this," Sara muttered, pressing the dagger back into her hands. "It becomes you."

Leliana stared after her momentarily before shaking her head and falling into step behind the others.


	12. Change of Plans

_Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare. Minor detail changes in this one._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4 – Change of Plans<strong>

Sara was frantically scrubbing her hands. She shut her eyes and cleaned between her fingers and beneath her fingernails, ignoring the searing pain as she dug too deeply into her nail beds.

"Why did you do that?"

She jumped, her eyes opening - the deep voice had startled her.

Inhaling sharply, she exercised all of her will to steady her shaking limbs and voice.

"Why do you need an explanation?" her voice was hoarse.

"It wasted time."

She withdrew her hands from the stream and stood up, craning her head up to meet the Qunari's impassive gaze. Ignoring Sten's comment, she walked as calmly as possible back to the campfire, drying her hands on her tunic.

"You do not answer the question," he commented. "Why did you do it?" he repeated.

Unable to suppress her rage any longer, she snapped.

"BECAUSE IT NEEDED TO BE DONE!" she shouted, whirling on him. "And if you do not like my decisions, you can leave now."

Her breath was heaving and her shoulders hunched in angry tension. He continued to look at her for a moment before walking wordlessly to erect the tent they had recently purchased for him.

She turned back to see Alistair and Leliana exchanging worried glances as she slumped against a log near the fire, taking up her leathers and scrubbing the blood off with a spare bit of cloth.

_"Please," a sister reached for her arm as she passed. Sara jerked away instinctively but turned to face her. "Bran's mother has been missing for days," she looked sadly at a small boy sitting against a wall in the corner of the Chantry, his spindly arms wrapped tightly around his legs as he rocked back and forth. "This is a time of great need," she continued, her eyes pleading with Sara._

_ Sara looked for a moment at the small, broken child, feeling her heart wrench in her chest as she recognized the look on his face._

_ "We will find her," she said quietly, her expression solemn but resolute._

_ "Thank you," whispered the sister, bowing to the Warden and the rest of her group._

_ "Yes, let's waste time by helping all of the bleeding hearts in this pathetic village," said Morrigan bitterly as they descended down the stairs outside of the Lothering Chantry._

_ "He's just a boy," Leliana said, trying to reason with the witch. "He deserves to know what happened to his mother."_

_ "Such coddling will do nothing for him," she snapped back._

_ "What would _you_ do if your mother died?" Alistair stepped in, defending the Orlesian._

_ "You mean before or after I stopped laughing?" she asked scornfully._

_ "Right," he said, inching away from her. "Very creepy, forget I asked."_

_ "Enough!" yelled Sara. "The sooner we find his mother, the sooner he can know what happened," she looked to Alistair and Leliana, "and the sooner we can leave this 'pathetic village'," she glared at Morrigan._

_ They'd discovered the body, bloodied and mangled, behind a farm near the Lothering's exit. Sara dropped to her knee and gently pushed the woman's eyelids down. She took a moment to force back the bile and tears before taking a deep breath and reaching under the body, lifting it easily and carrying it back to the Chantry._

_ Sara had sent Leliana back into the Chantry to fetch the sister who'd asked for their help. She never intended to let the boy see the twisted body that used to be his mother, but he'd snuck out on the tail of the sister when she emerged from the building with Leliana._

_ "Mama!" his cry was strangled as he flew down the steps to where Sara held the limp body. "Mama," he said again, his words giving way to the uncontrolled wailing of a child._

_ "I'm sorry," whispered Sara, passing the body gently to a Templar who had just approached. She turned on her heel, not allowing herself to glance back to see if the others followed her as she walked hurriedly away from the despair behind her._

After hastily freeing Sten from his prison and purchasing some supplies, Sara had hurried them out of the village to camp for the night. Not until they'd walked steadily for two for hours did she allow them to stop, dropping her things and rushing immediately to the stream to scrub the dead woman's blood from her hands, as she now scrubbed it from her armor.

She eyed the Qunari warily as she worked at her leather. She realized that freeing him was in complete contrast with the way she'd behaved towards Bran and his dead mother, but there was something about the boy that reminded her of herself. She'd not permitted herself to think about her family for anything longer than a fleeting moment since Duncan had forcibly dragged her from Highever. But seeing Bran earlier had put a small crack in the walls she'd erected since her family's slaughter. She felt inside exactly as he'd looked – nothing more than a small, fragile child, holding herself and rocking aimlessly.

Aside from the crack in her otherwise well-maintained emotional defenses, there was something about Sten that had compelled her to free him. He was honest and straightforward about how he'd killed the family, and he wished to seek atonement. He offered no explanation, claiming that it did not matter. Which, made a sort of twisted sense to Sara – the family was dead, and there was no justification for it. She realized then that she would have been less inclined to release him if he'd tried to rationalize his actions or lie about them. Sara thought of Rendon Howe with burst of rage – no, Sten's behavior was not that of a murderous lunatic. She knew exactly what those were like.

"You're going to wear that down to nothing," a voice interrupted her vengeful thoughts.

She scowled, looking down at her armor. In her anger at the thought of Howe, she'd subconsciously scrubbed harder than she'd meant, rubbing a small patch into discoloration. Sara sighed, her shoulders releasing as she set her armor aside.

"That was a very honorable thing you did," Leliana said quietly as she sat next to the Warden.

Sara snorted, staring into the fire,

"Lot of good it did." She winced as she thought of Bran crying out and running towards her, the bearer of his dead mother.

"It did," she insisted gently. "For Bran, and for you, I think," she added, gazing cautiously at her. Finally, Sara lifted her deep green eyes to meet Leliana's before glancing down at her Chantry robes.

"What did you do before you joined the Chantry?" she asked.

The change of subject did not go unnoticed by Leliana, but she readjusted against the log and decided not to push the Warden and further at the moment.

"I was a minstrel in Orlais. I traveled the country, playing for coin and applause," a hint of a smile touched her lips for the first time since she'd joined them.

"A minstrel?" Sara said, raising her eyebrow slightly. Leliana could detect a hint of skepticism in her voice, as if she'd not believed the Orlesian entirely. "And how did you learn to fight so beautifully?"

She could not tell if the compliment was genuine or meant to provoke, but the anger and defensiveness flared up within her.

"The Chantry does not pry, and you should?" she asked sharply.

Sara recoiled slightly, an expression of hurt flickering across her face, and it was then that Leliana realized the compliment had been sincere.

"I suppose I should not," she said curtly, the hurt gone from her face and replaced by slight indignation. "I need to unpack," she muttered, rising from the log and walking over to where she'd dropped her belongings earlier.

Leliana watched her go, cursing herself for becoming so defensive.

xxx

"Are you alright?"

Alistair turned away from the pot of – well, Sara couldn't really identify with certainty what it was, but she knelt down next to him and sniffed it gingerly.

"Lamb and pea stew," he said proudly, stirring the grey mush.

"Looks…delici-" she sighed and abandoned her attempt to lie. "Listen, I meant, are you alright…about Duncan?" she asked, leaning around to look at his face. Sara had never cared for him in life, given how he'd ripped her from her family, but now she supposed he'd done all he was able to do. Though she was saddened when he'd perished along with the other Grey Wardens, she knew it was nothing compared to Alistair's grief.

"Oh," his face fell. He removed his hand from the ladle and wiped it on his breeches. He looked curiously at her, as if unsure whether she actually wanted him to discuss it. She gave him a small nod of encouragement. "It comes and goes," Alistair said, settling back on a stump. "I didn't know him long," he admitted, "but I like to think I knew him well. He was a good man," he added, looking at Sara. Apparently her disdain had not gone unnoticed.

She nodded. "I know he was," she said quietly. "And I know he meant a lot to you."

"He did," Alistair exhaled. After a brief pause, he turned to Sara. "I'm glad you're here. With me. With us-" he corrected himself awkwardly, the faintest hint of red flushing his cheeks. She's been a mental fortress since he'd met her, but their experience at Ostagar had brought them closer. She'd even shared with him the story of how she was recruited – how that bastard Howe had betrayed her family and how Duncan had forcibly taken her to Ostagar.

She smiled at him faintly, but Alistair knew it was forced.

"I'm glad too," she said.

"_What in the Maker's name is that?_" Leliana shrieked, bending over the pot to which Alistair had previously been tending.

"Lamb and pea stew!" he exclaimed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"But-" the Orlesian floundered. "Why is it grey?"

"It's supposed to be," he said simply. "You throw everything in at once and cook it until it's a nice, uniform grey," he nodded.

"But…what about herbs… and spices?" she asked, slightly panicked.

Alistair looked horrified. "What? No! Never, _ever_ add those," he told her firmly.

Leliana looked ill and slightly pale.

"You can cook tomorrow," Sara told her, rising and dusting herself off. "I'm sure we would all appreciate a change of cuisine. You might even get Morrigan to eat with us!" she called a little loudly, looking over to the edges of their clearing. She'd made no secret of her dislike of sharing their company, even going so far as to build a separate fire, which Sara personally thought was overkill. But she had to admit, she was a bit envious of the witch tonight – Morrigan could get away with turning down Alistair's cooking outright, but she would have to put on a brave face and suck it up.

"All part of being a Warden, I suppose," she muttered to nobody in particular, suppressing a smile at the look of apprehension on Leliana's face.

xxx

Alistair and Leliana shared first watch that night at camp. Being left alone with a beautiful Orlesian was perhaps the most terrifying thing that had happened in his life, he thought, _including_ almost being stampeded by darkspawn.

"So," he began awkwardly. "You-"

She cut him off before he could finish his thought. "Why is Sara so…" she shook her head, trying to find a diplomatic yet honest word to describe her.

"Bitchy?" he asked drily. Leliana gave him a reproving look, but he saw her eyes crinkle slightly in amusement. He shook his head. "She's not," he sighed, examining his sword for nicks. "She's…hurting."

Leliana nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.

"It's not been easy for her," he continued, moving more closely and lowering his voice. "I shouldn't be telling you this now," he added, grimacing, "but you should know so you can…avoid her anger." He settled against the log next to Leliana, trying to ignore the fact that he was now alone _and_ right next to a beautiful Orlesian.

He told her, in as much detail as he deemed respectful, about the fall of the Cousland family. He watched Leliana's draw drop in horror, pain and empathy working its way across her face as he explained Howe's betrayal, her family's slaughter, and Sara's conscription to the Wardens. When he'd finished, a silence settled on the pair.

"Poor thing," the sister murmured, looking at Sara's darkened tent.

Alistair nodded. "You probably shouldn't let on that you know all this," he added quickly. "For both our sakes."

She shook her head, "Of course not. But thank you for telling me," she looked at him with a sadness in her eyes. In truth, Leliana nearly always looked sad when she believed she wasn't being watched, but he knew that the sadness this time was not for herself.

Before he could respond, they heard the faint sound of twigs cracking just beyond the border of their clearing. They tensed and the Templar threaded his arm through his shield, gripping his sword tightly in his other hand. Leliana rose and unsheathed her new daggers noiselessly.

"I'll go in from the side," she whispered, jerking her head toward the dark wood. Alistair nodded and hoisted up his shield, squinting into the darkness.

Leliana melted into the shadows several yards from where they'd heard the noise. The Templar edged forward cautiously, raising his sword as he heard footsteps approaching the border of the camp. A moment later he relaxed – Leliana had emerged from the wood, dragging two dwarves along at knifepoint.

"Alright, alright!" one dwarf was saying, throwing his hands up.

"Wait," said Alistair, "aren't you the dwarves we saved earlier today?"

Leliana released them roughly, not dropping her dagger.

"That we are, Ser. I am Bodahn Feddic, at your service," he gave a flashy bow.

"At our service?" Alistair asked sarcastically. "Then what were you doing trying to rob us?"

"Rob you?" Bodahn said, his eyebrows raised. "We had no intention of robbing you. I just figured that with all the darkspawn and bandits and the like, what safer way for my boy and I to travel than in the company of two Grey Wardens and their…very capable friends," he smiled at Leliana. "I have all sorts of goods available for trading," he added quickly, seeing that he was convincing neither of them. "And I can offer you an excellent discount in return for allowing us to humbly accompany you on your travels."

"Is that so?" the Templar asked drily.

"Quite," responded Bodahn. "It's not exactly easy up here for a surface merchant," he shrugged. "Especially not with the recent troubles with the, uh, secondary lyrium trade," he added shadily.

"_Secondary _lyrium trade?" Leliana cut in. "I don't suppose you'd mean smuggling lyrium from Orzammar?"

"Well," the dwarf began, waving his hands, "I'm not speaking of _myself_ of course, but I've heard from…other dwarves that the mages of the Circle aren't in any state to be buying lyrium, what with the Right of Annulment-" but he got no further.

"_What?_" exclaimed Alistair.

"Word is that the Templars have sent for the Right of Annulment," Bodahn told him. "They say the Circle's become a danger – nobody can get in or out."

Alistair swore and ran a finger through his close-cropped blonde hair.

"Our treaty with the mages isn't exactly useful if _there aren't any mages_," muttered to nobody in particular, pacing back in forth. "Alright," he said, raising his voice and straightening up. "Are you sure about this?"

Bodahn nodded sagely. "I am, Ser."

Alistair sighed and rubbed his face. "Fine, then. You can stay." He turned back to Leliana. "I've got to tell Sara," he told her, starting towards her tent.

"Wait," said Leliana, looking at Sara's tent uncertainly. "Perhaps it would be best if another woman woke her," she began delicately, "in case, she is not…garbed appropriately."

The dawning of comprehension appeared on Alistair's face, accompanied by a deep blush.

"You're- yes, er-" he nodded, attempting stoic seriousness. "Very well then." He cleared his throat.

Leliana suppressed a smile and walked to her companion's tent.

"Sara?" she called, standing outside the tent. When she heard no response, she ducked inside.

Dani lifted his head lazily as she entered, but apparently deciding she was not a threat, he laid back down and promptly dozed off. Leliana approached Sara's restless figure hesitantly – she was tossing and turning, groaning as if she were in pain. She reached out a hand and shook her.

"Sara?" she said. "We need you." She shook Sara a little harder and gave a startled gasp when she felt hands close firmly around her wrists.

"Who is it?" she asked hoarsely, trying to discern the features of her visitor.

"It's me," said the Orlesian gently. "Leliana."

Sara released her grip.

"What is it?" she asked, not unkindly.

She relayed the events of the past five minutes to Sara, whose reaction was much the same as Alistair's.

"We have to go to the Circle immediately," she said, swearing under her breath. She sat up and put her forehead in her hands. "We don't have time to go to Redcliffe first."

Leliana nodded in the darkness. "We should leave at first light."

It was Sara's turn to nod. "Yes," she murmured. "Why don't you get some rest? I won't be able to go to back to sleep."

"Are you sure?" she asked uncertainly. "I can stay up-"

"No," Sara cut her off, already pulling on her armor. "It's fine."

Leliana turned to go but Sara caught her arm gently.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For telling me."

"You're welcome," she responded before ducking out, her heart slowing from Sara's aggressive awakening.

"Come on, Dani," Sara patted the massive hound. "Let's get to work."


	13. Seeing Dreams

_Some detail changes to correct for inconsistency (for example, Leliana's reference to Sara saying she'd heard that Orlesian minstrels are spies...I never actually wrote that in). I also wanted to slow down with Leliana's and Sara's relationship and explore a bit more why they are drawn to each other. Anything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare._

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><p><strong>Chapter 5 – Seeing Dreams<strong>

For the first time since their journey began, Sara and her companions ate their dinner in complete silence. The Warden couldn't tell if it was because they were still haunted by the Fade visions they'd seen at the Circle or because Sara had also borne witness to the private thoughts that dwelt in the dark recesses of their minds.

_"Happy birthday, pup," said her father brightly as he handed her a beautiful mahogany box upon which her initials were inlaid.  
>"Thank you, father," Sara grinned happily.<br>Within were two of the most beautiful weapons she'd ever seen: twin daggers with hilts bearing the Cousland family crest. Looking down at them, she shifted uncertainly in her chair. There was something vaguely familiar about them…  
>She looked up at Bryce. "Shouldn't you have left for Ostagar already?" she asked, glancing at Eleanor, who was beaming proudly at her daughter.<br>The Teyrn laughed. "The Blight was over before it even began!" he waved his hands.  
>"She was probably out ranging when the announcement was read," said Fergus, grinning and mussing her hair, "eh, sis?"<br>Sara felt a nagging at the back of her mind. There was something uncomfortable about all of this. She looked again at the daggers in her hands…  
>"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Eleanor asked, breaking her train of thought.<br>"She hasn't been in the forest yet today, mother," answered Fergus, clapping his sister on the back.  
>The forest.<br>Sara watched a thin stream of smoke rise up from a candle on the table.  
>The forest. The daggers.<br>"No-" she stood up, knocking her chair over.  
>"What is it, pup?"<br>"This- this isn't real. You're-" her eyes widened in horror, "dead. You're all dead."  
>Think, Sara.<br>An image of the massive abomination that had once been the blood mage Uldred flashed across her mind.  
>"Demons," she whispered, looking at the figures before her.<br>"Sara," said the one that looked like Fergus, rising and reaching toward her.  
>"No!" she screamed. She plunged a dagger into his heart-<em>

Sara closed her eyes hard, a sudden feeling of nausea rising up in her stomach. She reopened her eyes and glanced around at her companions. She would have been utterly horrified if any of them, except perhaps Alistair, had seen her dream, and she imagined they could not feel any differently.

Sara looked at their newest ally and bit her lip. When they encountered her in the Circle tower, she had recognized Wynne immediately from Ostagar, amazed and grateful that they could add another name to the very short list of survivors. Wynne had been the only Circle mage to return to the tower alive.

"How are you?" Sara asked her quietly, immediately realizing how foolish her question sounded. If Wynne was surprised by the Warden's silent approach or bothered by her question, her face did not betray it.

"Weary," she answered with a sigh, pushing her food around without eating it.

Sara settled down on the log next to her.

"Wynne," she began, unsure why the silence of this particular companion bothered her so much. Perhaps it was the gruesome scene that Sara witnessed when she encountered the mage in the Fade, sobbing over one of the many bodies of dead children that were scattered around her. "What happened in the Fade –you can't let it haunt you," she swallowed, pushing images of her own dream from her mind. "It was only a nightmare."

"Oh, child," she smiled sadly and placed her hand on top of Sara's. "It was not all fantasy."

She looked at Wynne with wide eyes and began to wish that she'd never started this conversation.

"There was one apprentice," the mage began as she gazed into the fire. "I failed her terribly. Whether it was because I could not help her, or," she closed her eyes, "because I did not do enough, I cannot say. But what you saw in the Fade was not so far from the truth." She opened her eyes again.

The Warden felt her heart drop into her stomach, remembering the looks of betrayal on the faces of her family as she killed them in her dream.

"I know I should not let such thoughts plague me," Wynne continued when Sara remained silent, "but such a thing is easier said than done, Warden, as I believe you know." The mage gazed at her evenly, her expression unreadable. Finally, she squeezed Sara's hand. "You must forgive me, Sara, for retiring so early, but this day has exhausted these old bones," she smiled sadly and rose before turning around and entering her tent.

Sara looked worriedly at Wynne's tent for a few moments before her gaze shifted slightly and she saw Morrigan regarding her from the edge of the clearing. Suddenly remembering something, she rose from the log and disappeared into her own tent, emerging a moment later and walking over to the witch's area.

"I found something today," called Sara as she approached. "I thought you might find it interesting."

Morrigan watched her with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. No doubt Sara's intrusion into her Fade dream earlier, not that it had been intentional, made her uncomfortable. Her eyes widened when she saw the object in Sara's outstretched hand.

"Where-? How-?" she stumbled, apparently at a loss for words since the first time the Warden had encountered her.

"In the Circle tower," she responded. "It was the cover that caught my eye."

Morrigan took the black grimoire from Sara with shaking hands. The large, black tome bore a cover with a delicately-painted portrait of a woman whose limbs were all transforming into those of different animals – a shapeshifter.

Sara had learned of Flemeth's ability shortly after Morrigan had joined their party, when the witch, after changing into a bird to scout ahead, explained to her that she learned her powers from her mother.

"Flemeth taught me some of her ability, but she kept many secrets from me," Morrigan said, flipping through the pages in awe. "This is- thank you." She looked up at Sara awkwardly, but her expression was genuine.

"You're welcome," the Warden responded, inclining her head. She hoped this meant that Morrigan would forgive her for trespassing in the Fade and witnessing a dream-Flemeth doting lovingly on her daughter. She bit the inside of her cheek as she watched Morrigan skimming the pages with intense concentration. In that moment, Sara realized that a warm, loving mother was either the witch's darkest fear or her deepest desire.

xxx

Sara watched the Orlesian from across the fire as she restrung her bow with nimble, practiced hands. They had not been able to purchase her a particularly nice weapon in Lothering, but already Leliana had made several improvements on it during their first watch together.

Initially, Sara had found herself privately agreeing with Morrigan when she'd referred to the sister as 'preachy and naïve.' But since leaving the Circle Tower, something about her feelings toward the woman had shifted. She looked at her curiously, unable to shake the things she saw in the Fade.

_"Shh, child," the Revered Mother said as she placed her hand gently on Leliana's head. "The Maker forgives all who seek atonement."  
>"I've done such terrible things," the Orlesian whispered, pressing her forehead hard into her clasped hands as she rocked back and forth on bended knee.<br>"Those are past," the older woman responded. "Repentance is a virtue."_

Feeling the Warden's eyes on her, Leliana looked up – even across the fire her blue eyes glinted like ice. Embarrassed at being caught, Sara looked away quickly, her cheeks flushing.

"I wanted to apologize-"

"I'm sorry for-" they began simultaneously. Sara looked away shyly, her faint smile mirroring Leliana's.

"Go ahead," said the Warden, forcing herself to meet the Orlesian's eyes.

Instead of responding immediately, Leliana placed her bow gently on the ground, rising from her seat and walking around the fire. Seeing her intended path, Sara shifted over to make room for her on the log. The Orlesian smiled gratefully and settled in next to her.

"I'm sorry for becoming so defensive the other day," she said finally, nudging around some dirt with the toe of her boot, "when you asked about my past."

"I'm sorry for prying," responded Sara. When Leliana met her gaze, she felt a sheepish heat climb up her neck and looked away.

"If we are to work together, there must be some form of trust, no?" she asked in her singsong voice. Sara nodded wordlessly, too nervous to look at her. The Orlesian sighed. "You were right to ask about my skill in combat," she began slowly. "I know Fereldan minstrels are simply musicians and entertainers, but…it is not always so in Orlais. Some Orlesian minstrels are spies – they are called bards."

"I thought bards and minstrels were the same thing," she looked at Leliana, curiosity overcoming her anxiety.

"Yes," she nodded, "in many places, the two words are used interchangeably, but to do so in Orlais would…cause confusion." She glanced at Sara with a raised eyebrow. "The nobles of Orlais act as though they are all friends in public, but they plot endlessly against each other in private," Leliana continued. "They hire bards to gain the secrets of other nobles, spy on them, or sometimes-" she swallowed, "assassinate them."

"You seem to know a great deal about these bards," said Sara, trying to keep her voice steady as a feeling of dread grabbed hold of her.

"I should, as I was one of them." She looked at the Warden with the faintest hint of pleading in her eyes, but the young woman would not meet Leliana's gaze.

"You're a spy…" she said, keeping her tone even. She rose from the log, trying to make it appear casual and unrelated to the Orlesian's confession.

"I _was_," Leliana corrected her. "But I am no longer."

Sara still could not face her. "Why did you leave Orlais?" she asked suddenly.

"I…did not want that life anymore," the bard answered, choosing her words carefully. Her confession was true, though not complete.

The Warden turned and looked at her, her expression hard at first.

"The dream…" she said quietly, her face softening as she cocked her head and looked wonderingly at the redhead.

Leliana blushed deeply and nodded, looking at the ground.

After a moment's hesitation, Sara walked back to the log and sat, straddling it so she could face the bard.

"I have so many regrets," Leliana whispered, closing her eyes. In the flickering light of the fire, Sara could see a tear beginning a slow slide down her cheek. Instinctively, she reached up to brush it away and was surprised when she felt the bard lean into her touch. Her heart quickened, but she did not pull her hand away.

"We all have things in our past we wish we could change," she said gently, closing her eyes and forcing her own past from her mind. After a moment, she took her hand away and looked at her companion with a furrowed brow. "Thank you for telling me," she said. "I know it was hard."

"You made it much easier," Leliana responded, marveling at color of the Warden's eyes, so like the trees of the woods that surrounded them. "So," she continued, unable to handle the weight of the silence. "What did you dream about?" a sly smile touched the corner of her lips.

She instantly regretted her question. Anger flickered briefly across Sara's face, and Leliana quickly apologized.

"I'm sorry, Sara, I didn't mean-" she shook her head.

But the anger was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"It's a wonder you were ever successful as a bard," she murmured. "Sticking your foot in your mouth like that." An almost imperceptible smile appeared on her lips.

"I'm only like this around you," she admitted before she could stop herself.

After an uncertain pause, Sara said, "You have every right to ask about my dream." She sighed and shook her head, "Yours was surrendered to me without your consent." The Warden bit the inside of her lip and steeled herself. "I dreamt of my family," she looked at Leliana, realizing she didn't know of Highever's demise.

"Alistair told me what happened to them…" she trailed off nervously. Sara's eyes narrowed briefly, but she betrayed no hint of anger. She nodded instead,

"We were at my home," she closed her eyes, remembering the way the flames devoured the castle as Duncan dragged her away. "It was my 18th birthday."

"How did you realize it wasn't real?" Leliana asked quietly.

Sara swallowed – her mouth had suddenly gone dry. "I was…reminded of something. Something that happened the day-" she broke off, shaking her head. "I had to kill them, in my dream. I killed my family." _Like I killed them in real life, _she thought, but she did not share that with Leliana.

"They were demons, Sara," the bard said gently, laying her hand on top of the Warden's. After a moment, Sara turned her hand over and interlaced her fingers with Leliana's.

"But they looked so much like them," she said hoarsely. After a moment, Sara withdrew her hand and stood, shaking her head. "But you're right, they were just demons."

Leliana watched helplessly as the walls that had begun coming down during their watch were hurriedly put back up. As she watched Sara walk to her tent, she remembered the night they'd learned about the Circle.

"Do you have nightmares?" she asked. Sara paused, and Leliana saw a small shiver run down the Warden's spine. She turned her head over her shoulder,

"Every night."

"I used to have terrible nightmares," admitted Leliana. Sara turned to look at her, and the bard forced herself to meet her eyes. "I know I sounded crazy when I told you about my vision," she said. Sara shuffled her feet uncomfortably, not able to bring herself to deny it. "But I still believe what I said. In the Chantry, I found such peace, but I still had nightmares. One night, a dream came that ended them. I dreamt there was a darkness descending upon the land, swallowing everything in its path. It was everywhere, and I fell into it, or maybe I jumped," she frowned, shaking her head. "The next day, I went into the garden behind the Chantry. There was a rose bush that had been dead for a many years, blackened and twisted. But there, for the first time in anyone's memory, was a single, blooming flower." She looked at Sara, unsure why she was sharing her dream in that moment. The Warden's gaze was unreadable, and when she turned around wordlessly and entered her tent, Leliana felt her eyes flood with tears. She blinked back fiercely and stared into the fire, trying to control her breathing. The sound of the tent flap startled her, and she looked to see Sara approaching her, clutching something wrapped in cheesecloth.

She sat on the log next to the bard and looked at her. "I found this at the Circle Tower," her voice was hoarse again.

Leliana took it from her and unwrapped it carefully. A small gasp escaped her lips.

"It's beautiful," she whispered, bending down to look more closely at it. Lying in the cloth was an amulet of fine silver depicting Andraste's undying flame – almost identical to those worn by members of the Chantry.

It glinted in the firelight as Sara reached over and picked it up gently. She rose from the log and stepped behind Leliana, unclasping the amulet and draping it around the Orlesian's neck, securing it just beneath where her short, red hair ended. "You _did_ sound a little crazy," Sara commented as she worked, but Leliana could hear the hint of a smile in her voice. "But I'm glad you're here," her voice was gentle and honest. She sat down again and craned around to see it from the front.

"It becomes you." Her face was serious. Leliana put a hand to the amulet and looked at Sara with such gratitude that the Warden felt unworthy.

"Thank you," she said, her heart skipping as she searched Sara's eyes. Without thinking, she placed her hand on top of the girl's. It had been a long time since she'd felt that she could trust anyone. Though the Warden was quick to anger and had a fearsome taste for the battlefield, there was a kind of gentle sensitivity that beat just beneath her surface. Their leader was blunt – sometimes overly so – but also honest; Leliana could never imagine her in Orlesian court, exchanging niceties with someone one minute and yet plotting their downfall the next. She supposed it was just this feeling that made her at ease with Sara, and Alistair as well.

"Ahhhh!" yawned the Templar loudly, as if conjured by Leliana's thoughts. His armor clanked as he stepped out of his tent. Leliana pulled away as if she'd been suddenly burned.

Bleary-eyed with sleep, and being Alistair in general, he missed this entirely. Instead, he stretched and yawned loudly again.

"Which lucky woman am I relieving?" he asked, blinking to clear his vision.

"Sara," said Leliana, rising from the log and avoiding the Warden's eyes. "I'll go wake Sten." She was unsure why she felt so flustered by her exchange with Sara.

"_Stennn_?" Alistair whined. "Watching with him is always so…quiet."

"Maybe he can teach you a thing or two," she muttered as she walked to the Qunari's tent, both irritated by and grateful for the Templar's sudden appearance.

Sara watched Leliana walk away with growing confusion. She had no idea what had just passed between them, and the bard's sudden withdrawal left her all the more flummoxed. She bit the inside of her cheek and tried to shake it from her mind, knowing already that it would mostly likely keep her awake until dawn.


	14. The Bargain

__Some major changes to this one. I toned down Leliana's and Sara's flirting during the celebratory dinner and added a bit about Sten. I also decided to move the assassin's attempt on Leliana elsewhere. I'm not sure where just yet, but I wanted to make it it's own chapter. A___nything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6 – The Bargain<strong>

"He's just a child! Don't tell me we're actually considering this," Leliana's voice cracked with desperation.

"I know he is, but…he's an abomination," Alistair said quietly.

Leliana opened her mouth to protest again but Sara cut her off,

"Would you really be willing to give your life?" she asked the Arlessa.

Isolde thought for a moment before saying, "To save the life of my only son, yes…"

"You can't be serious!" Alistair exclaimed, starting towards Sara. "This is the Arl's wife you're talking about killing!"

"And the alternative is his son," Sara retorted.

Alistair opened his mouth to respond, but Sten placed a massive hand on his shoulder to restrain him. He had served Sara with unquestioning devotion since she had recovered his sword, _Asala_. A scavenger had attempted to rob their camp while Alistair and Sten kept watch. When he saw the Qunari, he'd tried to run, but hew as only released after confessing that he'd taken the sword and sold it to a dwarf in Redcliffe. Sara had tracked him down as soon as they'd set foot in the village.

"I'm not talking about killing anyone," she snapped, rubbing her face with her hands and tugging at the locks of dark hair that hung in front of her eyes. Things in Redcliffe had not gone well in the least, beginning with Alistair's confession that he was the product of the late King Marric's wandering affection, or, as Sara put it, that he was "not only a bastard, but a royal bastard." Compound that with the Arl's mysteriously incurable and terminal illness, _and_ the fact that his wife had unwittingly hired a blood mage to secretly teach their son Connor to control his powers. The lessons had evidently been to no avail, as the boy had gone and gotten himself possessed by one seriously twisted demon.

And now, because the Maker was apparently a fan of dramatic irony, Connor's mother was volunteering to give her life to save Connor in a ritual suggested by the same damn blood mage who caused all of this mess.

"If I may," began Jowan, the blood mage whose name Sara was presently cursing.

"You may _not_," she snapped again, looking at him with unbridled fury. At present, her only options included either killing the boy or killing his mother, neither of which Sara could bring herself to do. "Is there no other way?" she asked desperately, looking amongst the three mages that stood in the room.

"Perhaps," said Wynne slowly. It was only now that Sara realized that Wynne, who usually shared her council when the young Warden was conflicted, had remained quiet since they'd discovered the boy's condition. The mage sighed and closed her eyes, "It is a risk, but there may be a way to save Connor without sacrificing his mother."

"I am willing to take a risk to save a life," said Sara quietly, stepping to Wynne and grasping her hand gently.

Wynne opened her eyes, and Sara felt a sharp pang in her chest when she saw that she was on the verge of tears. The mage nodded and continued. "With an adequate amount of lyrium and more mages, there is a ritual we could perform to send someone into the Fade to confront the demon."

"The Circle!" said Alistair excitedly. "They have plenty of lyrium, and they owe us!"

"Yes," murmured Wynne, "but the Tower is two days' travel. There is a chance-"

"I can go," cut in Leliana, already starting towards the door. "I am the fastest; I can make it there a day and a half; one, if I do not stop."

"Wait," said Sara. Everyone turned to look at her, but it was Morrigan she was eyeing with the sudden dawning of an idea. "You _are_ the fastest, Leliana," she conceded. "In human form…"

Morrigan's eyes narrowed. "Let us discuss this in another room," said the witch almost inaudibly.

Sara nodded curtly and followed her out of the door and down the hallway to a broom cupboard.

"You are asking me to seek the aide of the Circle?" she asked when they'd closed the door from any potentially prying eyes.

"I know you do not care for them," Sara began delicately, knowing that 'care' did not begin to cover the witch's disdain. "But when you joined us, you agreed to a form of service. We need you," she implored.

Morrigan was silent for several seconds, staring at the Warden unblinkingly. Finally, she raised her chin and said,

"If I am to do this, you must do something for me in return."

Sara peered at her uncertainly for a moment, wondering where this could possibly be going. "Go on."

The witch relaxed slightly, choosing her words carefully as she continued.

"I have found, within the grimoire you recovered, the secret to Flemeth's…prolonged life."

"Let me guess, she sacrifices children and eats babies," blurted Sara, unable to stop herself.

"That is closer to the truth than I'm sure you would like to believe," she said with such an even tone that a shiver ran down Sara's spine. "As Flemeth grows older, she raises a daughter. When she becomes too old, she claims the body of her daughter for herself, thus further extending her life."

"Your body…" Sara said slowly, comprehension working its way across her face.

Morrigan nodded. "Obviously, 'tis not my wish to be her next victim. I need you," the expression on her face hardened once more, "to kill her for me."

"Kill Flemeth?" asked Sara incredulously. "_The_ Flemeth? Is that even possible?"

"At the moment, no, mostly likely not," Morrigan conceded. "But in our- _her_," she corrected herself, "home, there is another grimoire that I believe contains the secret to killing her."

"And you cannot confront her yourself?" Sara raised her eyebrows.

"If she were felled while I am present, she would simply take my body for her own. This is why I require your assistance, in exchange for this _favor_ you require," her eyes narrowed.

Sara frowned. Surely Morrigan knew that she would have done it without asking for anything in returned. She supposed, however, that this would have made the witch feel indebted – certainly an unwelcome emotion for her.

"Very well," she bowed her head. "If you obtain the Circle's assistance as quickly as possible, I will kill Flemeth and retrieve her grimoire." Though she said this as if they were merely discussing the weather, an uncertainty tugged at her gut.

Morrigan's expression did not change, but she nodded curtly and left the broom cupboard. Sara sighed and walked back down to the hall to the room where the others waited.

"What took so long?" Alistair demanded when she'd reentered.

"It is done," she looked at Isolde, ignoring his question. "My companion is on her way to the Circle Tower. For now," she glanced at Connor lying on the floor, subdued for the time being, "we will just have to wait."

She sank to the floor and cradled her face in her hands, praying that this wait would not be in vain.

xxx

"Everybody back!" Sara ordered, waving her hands to clear the space around Morrigan, who was collapsed on the floor. The Warden watched the witch breathlessly as her eyelids fluttered opened.

"It is done. The demon is dead." Her voice was raspy as she eased herself up. Sara quickly moved to help her and was surprised when Morrigan did not jerk away from her touch. Isolde cried out happily behind them as Connor stirred, rising from the deep sleep into which the Circle mages had lulled him. The mages themselves were smiling and congratulating each other quietly, exhausted from the ritual. Leliana and Wynne embraced, and Sara honestly could not tell who seemed more relieved. Alistair was shaking hands with First Enchanter Irving, and while Sten betrayed characteristically little emotion, he bowed his head in acknowledgment of the mages' success.

Amongst the happy chaos, Sara leaned in towards Morrigan's ear.

"Thank you," she whispered. Though she did not have to, the witch had volunteered to enter the Fade and confront the demon that had possessed Connor, thus saving Wynne the strain of partaking in the ritual.

"You gave me your word," she said, catching Sara's arm as she pulled away.

"As a Cousland," responded Sara solemnly. Morrigan relaxed her grip – although the Warden's devotion to her family was tiresome and trite, she was now certain the girl would not go back on her word.

"Come, we must feast!" Isolde called to the room, signaling an elven servant who just entered the room.

"I thought I would receive a reward of some sort, not this punishment," muttered Morrigan, pressing her hand to her forehead as Sara helped her to her feet.

"Just eat and run," the Warden whispered out of the side of her mouth, suppressing a smirk. "You could use your heroic acts as an excuse to leave early."

"Sometimes you are shockingly wise, Warden," said Morrigan, and Sara could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile touch the corners of the witch's mouth.

xxx

Because dinner was a last-minute affair, nobody had worn the traditional formal attire that was customary of a celebratory feast, and Sara found this positively delightful. Even more delightful was the food. Though she was raised in a noble house where food was always plenty and rich, if she so desired it, she was not particularly fickle when it came to her meals. That being said, she had grown very tired of soldier's rations and dried meat, and the delicious fare provided by the Arlessa and her staff was more than welcome.

Sara looked up at her neighbor. The Qunari sat in what could almost be described as reverent silence, a massive plate of cookies before him. He plucked another from the platter and placed it in his mouth, chewing with delicate focus.

"Enjoying those, Sten?" inquired Sara with no small amount of amusement.

He swallowed and licked his lips, breathing deeply.

"They are so sweet," his deep voice rumbled. "Like bread, but more…crumbly."

"They're called cookies," she informed him solemnly.

"Yes," he murmured. "We have nothing like this in Par Vollen. These 'cookies' are…remarkable."

The Warden hummed noncommittally, attempting to hide the smile that was creeping across her face as she watched the warrior place another cookie in his mouth.

"Sara," slurred Alistair from across the table, drawing the Warden's attention away from Sten. Over the course of the meal, the Templar had grown increasingly drunker, but Sara had not missed the fact that he had drained only two goblets of wine.

"Yes, Alistair?" she asked the swaying Warden as she tried very hard to maintain a serious face.

"Thank you," he bowed his head solemnly, "for...evv-rything you did." He hiccupped. "You are'n 'mazing leader."

"Thank you for the compliment," she ducked her head to keep him from seeing the smile that was taking over her face as she tried to steady her breathing and stifle her laughter. Leliana, having witnessed Alistair's escalating drunkenness, giggled and clapped a hand over her mouth. "What?" he asked, turning to look at the bard next to him.

"Nothing, Alistair," she smiled, patting him on the shoulder. "That was very kind of you to say," she glanced at Sara and bit her lip, shaking her head as he hiccupped once more. The Warden didn't know whether it was the candlelight or the wine she'd also enjoyed, but the way Leliana's eyes glinted as she looked at her across the table made her heart skip pleasantly in her chest. The bard's gaze lingered on her just a moment too long and she looked away quickly, cursing that heat on her neck that was becoming a little too familiar.

"Tell me, Warden," she heard Leliana say. She swallowed forced herself to meet the Orlesian's eyes.

"Yes?" she asked in what she had hoped was a natural voice but was in reality several pitches higher than her usual tone.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Leliana's blue eyes pierced her once more, and Sara could feel the breath catch in her chest.

"I am."

"And what is your favorite part?" she asked, raising an eyebrow and giving her a painfully playful smile.

Sara thought for a moment, unsure of what to say or what to make of Leliana's behavior. She swallowed, realizing she'd let the bard's question hang in the air for a little too long.

"The company," she answered finally.

"That is my favorite part as well," Leliana responded quietly, the smile still playing across her face as she raised her chin and rested it on her palm, turning away from Sara to look down the table.

So enthralled was she when Leliana burst into peals of silvery laughter in response to a comment farther down the table that she did not notice Wynne glancing knowingly between the bard and the Warden, the faintest shadow clouding her eyes.


	15. A Past, Revealed

_Upon reflection, I decided it was unlikely, at this point in time, that our Warden would go to Leliana's room to seek comfort. I thought perhaps this was far more likely. I also wanted to separate their late-night connection and Zevran's addition to the group._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7 - A Past, Revealed<strong>

Sara lay awake in the large, soft bed in the room she'd chosen for their stay that night in Redcliffe castle. She often found it difficult to fall asleep at night; even worse, she'd grown accustomed to the firm and typically rocky ground upon which they usually slept – she found it impossible to get comfortable on the pliable surface of the guest bed.

After nearly an hour of fruitless tossing and turning, she threw off the covers and pushed herself off the bed. Dani, who had been stretched out lazily by the door, scrambled to his feet at her movements. Pulling on a pair of woolen socks, Sara went to the door and eased it open. She could see no one down the length of the hall and crept out, finding her way to a small study off of the main hall with her warhound in tow.

A large pile of smoldering embers in the fireplace informed her that the staff responsible for its upkeep had long since gone to bed. She exhaled a small sigh of relief, approaching the large armchairs situated in front of the hearth. As she drew closer, she noticed a shock of red hair peeking out from one of the armchairs. She stopped in her tracks, debating whether she should leave the bard be or continue to the other chair. As she awkwardly swayed in place, Leliana turned, craning around the edge of the armchair.

"Oh!" the bard cried softly in surprise. "Hello, Warden."

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you," mumbled Sara quickly, taking a step back. "I was just leaving."

"You are not disturbing me in the least," the redhead responded quietly. Sara paused, weighing her options. Although she'd sought solitude, she was surprised to find the bard's presence comforting.

"If you're certain…" She raised an eyebrow.

"Quite," assured Leliana, gesturing at the empty chair beside her. Sara nodded and stepped forward, easing herself in. Dani collapsed by her feet.

They sat in companionable silence for several moments before the Warden cleared her throat quietly.

"Do you have trouble sleeping often?" she wanted to know.

Leliana was silent for several beats; Sara was on the verge of withdrawing her question, worried she'd offended the bard somehow, when her companion spoke.

"I cannot recall the last time I slept through the night," she told the Warden quietly, staring into the glowing embers.

Sara nodded knowingly, biting the inside of her cheek as she gazed at Leliana.

"Those things that happened in Orlais." It was not a question.

The bard nodded. "No matter the time or distance I put between myself and that life, it appears I will never be rid of it," she smiled ruefully. Sara felt her heart sink.

"Does it ever hurt less?" she asked after a moment, thinking of her own memories that continued to haunt her.

The bard looked at Sara, the corners of her blue eyes crinkling in a sad smile. "I will let you know."

The Warden swallowed, turning away and looking into the fading fire.

"And you?" asked the bard. "Something tells me you also find sleep quite flighty and elusive."

Sara nodded. "Very much so. Though," she began uncertainly, "tonight is worse than usual."

The redhead turned to her curiously. "Do you know why that is?" When Sara did not immediately answer, she tilted her head and continued, "Perhaps you have forgotten the feeling of basic comforts."

A soft laugh escaped Sara's lift. "That's true enough," she admitted. "Though I think it had more to do with our dinner tonight."

Leliana's heart skipped a beat. She could recall, with a vague sense of dread, that in her hazy, wine-induced state, she had deliberately behaved coyly and flirtatiously with their leader. She waited anxiously for Sara to continue.

"It was very much like…very much like the last dinner we had together." Her voice was nearly inaudible.

"Your family?" the bard inquired, though she already knew the answer.

Sara nodded. Leliana was at a loss for words, feeling foolish and egocentric for thinking that the Warden's discomfort concerned her. After several long moments, she spoke.

"I think," Leliana began slowly, "that your family is very proud of you."

Sara shook her head. "Perhaps they _would _be proud of me," she corrected her.

"They are with the Maker now – your actions do not go unnoticed by them."

"It's easy for _you_ to have your faith," she replied, perhaps with more acrimony than she'd intended. "You weren't dragged from your mother and father while they stayed behind to await their demise. You weren't-" she faltered, running a hand through her hair and sighing. "You weren't responsible for their deaths."

"Sara," said Leliana gently, trying to keep the alarm from her voice, "you are not responsible for your parents' death."

"Oh?" she asked with a hint of incredulity. "And what do you know of it?"

She opened her mouth to respond but closed it when she realized Sara was right – she knew nothing about it. The next couple of moments passed in silence before Sara sighed and turned to her, drawing her legs up.

"I'm sorry that I snapped at you," she looked at her pleadingly. A small sound of empathy escaped Leliana's lips when she saw the hurt in the Warden's eyes. "Do you remember asking me how I knew the Fade dream wasn't real?" Leliana nodded. "The day that Howe attacked," she closed her eyes, remembering the forest, "I was hunting with Dani in the wood around our home."

At the sound of his name, the mabari lifted his massive head. Sara patted him between his ears and continued. "It was quiet that day – there were no animals, no noise – it was…" she looked down at her legs that were crossed in front of her, "eerie. I saw a fire farther out in the forest, like…someone was camping out there. But, I was late-" her voice cracked. "It sounds so foolish now, knowing what happened, but I was late for dinner, so I ran home and forgot about it." She chewed the inside of her lip so hard that the skin broke, and the taste of blood flooded her mouth. "It wasn't until later, after they'd already taken the castle, that I realized…it was them," she forced herself to look at Leliana as she shared the truth of that night for the first time. "Howe's men were hiding in the forest, and I did nothing about it." Sara drew in a ragged breath, closing her eyes hard against the flood of tears.

Leliana rose from her chair, feeling the heat in her own eyes. She knelt in front of Sara, taking one of the Warden's hands into her own and lifting her other hand up to touch Sara's cheek. Once her companion's breathing had slowed down again, the bard spoke.

"My dear Warden," she began gently. "It is with the perfect vision of hindsight that you now blame yourself for inaction." Sara opened her eyes, a watery green. Leliana saw a questioning curve in her brows. "When you saw the fire in the forest, you could not have possibly known it was Howe's men preparing for treachery. Only later, after they had betrayed your family – an unthinkable act," the bard added, "did you realize it was them all along." The Warden slowly turned her head away, but Leliana gently urged her to meet her gaze. "You did nothing at the time because you didn't know there was anything you should do."

When Sara did not respond, the bard sighed and pressed on. "I know it is no comfort for you right now nor will it bring your family back. But grief is a potent hallucinogen," Leliana raised a brow. "It has a very powerful way of convincing you of things that are not true."

How long they gazed at each other, neither woman could say. Eventually, Sara nodded, sighing heavily and tilting her head back against the chair. Leliana rose and returned to her own seat, crossing her legs and looking over at the Warden.

"Thank you," she whispered, meeting the bard's eyes again. "I have not told anyone of this before," she admitted sheepishly. "Not even Alistair."

"Saying a thing out loud is irreversible," Leliana replied. "It makes it real."

Sara smiled faintly and nodded. "And how did you become so wise, oh bard?" she asked playfully.

"Oh, I have had my share of mistakes from which to learn. Experience is a hard teacher," Leliana sighed, moving her eyes to the hearth. "She gives you the test first and then the lesson."

Sara gazed back at her wordlessly, inclining her head slightly in agreement. Suddenly, a feeling of foolishness washed over her when she realized that her own tales of misfortunate had dominated their conversation.

"I know nothing of your family," she said somewhat self-consciously. "Are they still in Orlais?"

"They have been dead many years," Leliana answered quietly.

Sara's breath caught in her throat as she remembered her outburst only moments earlier when Leliana had tried to comfort her.

"I'm so sorry. Earlier- I didn't mean…" she trailed off.

"How many times must I tell you to stop apologizing?" the bard responded kindly. After a brief pause, Leliana sighed. "My mother was Fereldan. She moved to Orlais when I was very young, to serve a noblewoman. She died only a few years later," she said, her voice dropping. "But Lady Cecile, the woman she served, took care of me for much of my childhood. It is perhaps cruel that I have more memories of Lady Cecile than of my own mother."

Sara rested her chin upon her hand, leaning towards the bard and waiting for her to continue.

"I do remember that she used to sing," Leliana added. "She was always singing – when she would clean or cook, when she would brush my hair…" she trailed off wistfully. "I think that is where I got my love of music."

"You have a lovely voice," murmured Sara. Leliana laughed breathily. She had, on occasion, played a song or two at night after they'd made camp, but she never assumed that anyone was listening.

"I'm glad you like it," she responded, closing her eyes.

"What else do you remember?" Sara asked quietly.

"The way she smelled. She used to fold flower petals into her clothing at the end of the day, and her room and clothes always smelled of them. Her favorite was a small white flower that is somewhat uncommon in Orlais. Andraste's Grace, she called them. Sometimes I think I smell it, and I always find myself looking around for her." Her voice was sad, but Sara's eyes widened excitedly when she heard the name of the flower. She had seen Andraste's Grace many times in the forest before. Perhaps she could find it again.

"I'm sure your mother is proud of you," she said after a moment.

"I am not so sure," Leliana responded quietly, not missing Sara's use of the present tense. After a moment of silence, the Warden spoke again.

"I know you have done things you regret deeply, but what you're doing now – joining us in this…" Sara groped for the word, "_impossible_ quest…is no small thing." The Warden held her breath, hoping that she had at least partially convinced the bard. Truthfully, when the redhead had first joined their group, Sara was wary of her, and quickly grew tired of her platitudes and unwavering reverence of the Maker. But Leliana's guilt ran so deep it was almost palpable, and the Warden had begun to see the bard's attempts at atonement in nearly everything she did.

Finally, Leliana swallowed and looked at Sara. "I was not entirely truthful with you earlier, after we left the Circle." The Warden frowned, feeling a small knot forming in her gut. "I told you I left Orlais because I no longer wanted the life of a bard," she shifted her eyes away. "That was true, but…there is more," she looked back at Sara, whose wounded look urged her on despite her unwillingness to relive the darkest part of her life. "When I was a girl, perhaps sixteen, I met a woman named Marjolaine. She was," Leliana sighed, "beautiful. And elegant. She moved with such grace and poise, and many were infatuated with her. I performed one night at a party she was attending, and she took notice of me. I was entranced." She shook her head and looked away again. "Marjolaine took me as her pupil and taught me the bardic arts – how to obtain the secrets of others and earn their complete confidence; how to blend in or stand out at will. In time, I came to love her." Leliana grit her teeth and forced herself to look at Sara, whose attention was rapt, "and I believed she loved me. One night, years later, she asked me to kill a nobleman and recover some documents from his home. But when I retrieved them, I saw that they had the official seal of Orlais…"

"You opened them." Apprehension flickered across Sara's face.

Leliana nodded. "They had Marjolaine's name all over them – dangerous information about the Orlesian military and government meant for other countries. She was committing treason!" She tipped her head back and looked at the tall ceiling, shaking her head again. "I confronted her – I was concerned for her safety, but she assured me all would be well because I had recovered the evidence. The next day, I was arrested," she looked at Sara and pursed her lips. She could tell from the expression on the Warden's face that she began to understand what had happened; horrified comprehension worked its way through her features. "I saw the documents, altered by Marjolaine's hand to replace her name with mine. The Orlesian guards arrested me; they took me to a dungeon and-" for the first time since beginning her story, she faltered. She breathed deeply, steadying herself and meeting Sara's gaze again. The Warden opened her mouth as if to say something, but Leliana pushed on. "They tortured me – did…_terrible_ things to make me confess." She shivered and wrapped her arms around her body. A sort of choked noise escaped her lips.

"Leliana…" Sara murmured gently, her brow furrowed in concern. Dani rose from his place at the Warden's feet and walked to the bard's chair, placing his head gently in her lap.

A small smile flitted across Leliana's face. She placed her hands on Dani's head and closed her eyes, breathing deeply before she resumed. "I escaped in the night and stowed away on a cargo ship in a wagon. When I awoke I was in Ferelden, in Lothering…"

"And you joined the Chantry," Sara finished quietly.

"I had nowhere to go," she admitted with shame. It was the first time she'd confessed the truth that it was not her undying faith that led her to the service of the Maker. The bard met Sara's gaze and the Warden could see a hint of shame clouding her companion's eyes. "Sometimes I cannot help but feel like an imposter. My belief in the teachings of the Chantry, the fall of Andraste – it's all real. Now," she added. "But if I had not been driven to the Chantry by circumstance, I would have likely never found the Maker," Leliana shrugged helplessly.

A silence settled over them as Sara watched the redhead gaze into the fireplace. After a long moment, the Warden spoke.

"I think that if your beliefs are honest, it doesn't really matter how they came to you." The bard turned her head to look at Sara, and she felt her breath catch in her chest. "Believing even in the darkest of times makes the truest of faiths."

"Is that truly how you feel?" Leliana asked quietly. The Warden looked at her evenly before nodding.

"It is."

A small smile touched the bard's lips. "Thank you Sara," she said. "That means more to me than I can possibly say."

"You're welcome," Sara returned. She looked at the fireplace as the last glowing ember grew dark. "Now perhaps we should try to rest." Standing, she looked around at Leliana and smiled. "I think I will find sleep quite easily now."

"I as well," Leliana inclined her head. "Goodnight, dear Warden."

Sara bit the inside of her lip thoughtfully, gazing into Leliana's eyes for several beats.

"Goodnight, dear bard."


	16. The Rescue

_*Disclaimer: anything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8 – The Rescue<strong>

Sara stormed into the clearing and threw down her pack. Alistair followed on her heels in a similarly angry fashion.

"You're putting the entire group in danger with this. Just look what he's already done to you!" The Templar gestured at a gash in Sara's thigh that Wynne had not yet gotten a chance to heal.

"The circumstances have changed since then," she growled.

At that moment, Sten and Leliana entered the camp with a tattooed elf marching wearily between them. Wynne and Dani followed, with Morrigan trailing at a distance.

"I assure you, the rope is truly unnecessary," said the elf, holding up his bound hands to the Wardens.

"We will decide that in time," replied Alistair evenly before he turned back to his companion. "Honestly, Sara, you know I respect your decisions, but enlisting the help of a man who just tried to assassinate us?" he flailed his arms helplessly.

"Alistair," Leliana cut in calmly, stepping toward him, "from what I understand of the Antivan Crows, the way they treat their assassins does not particularly encourage loyalty." Her eyes shifted momentarily to the elf, "I understand your concern, but I believe Zevran is no threat to us. Sara is right – he may prove to be useful." The bard pursed her lips and looked between the two Wardens.

"You're just agreeing with her because- because-" Alistair floundered, "because she's a woman!" he shouted, throwing up his arms. The scarlet that flushed his neck and ears indicated that he knew as soon as he finished his sentence how foolish his comment was.

Leliana's jaw dropped in bewilderment. Behind her, Morrigan snorted derisively.

"Alistair," Sara began. The edge in her voice made the Orlesian's hair stand on end, "if you do not like my decisions, perhaps you can begin making some," she strode towards him. "_You _are the senior Warden here – it's time you began acting like it!" she jabbed a finger into his breastplate.

The Templar recoiled visibly, looking hurt. Sara's nostrils flared as she stared at him before turning on her heel and stalking off into the forest.

"Ah," sighed Wynne wistfully, "I remember what it was like to be young. Everything was the end of the world," she smiled faintly as she began unpacking her belongings.

Alistair snorted. "Right, but this really is the end of the world," he mumbled as he began assembling his tent. "Ow!" he cried when Leliana hit his arm reprovingly.

"Oh, stop your whining," she murmured, gazing worriedly in the direction Sara had taken. Over their travels the past few days, the Warden had been distant and edgy, so different from how she'd acted with Leliana in the Redcliffe study. Indeed, it was as if their late-night conversation had never happened.

Leliana's stomach had been in a painful knot, unsure whether Sara's behavior was caused by their intimate exchange or something else entirely. She was torn between pursuing the Warden and letting her work off her frustration on her own. But the Orlesian's desire to determine why her companion had been avoidant got the best of her and she headed into the forest down the path of broken twigs that the Warden had left behind. Her eyes searched the undergrowth expertly as she tracked, but she drew up short when all traces of her companion suddenly vanished.

_What the-?_

She took a couple steps forward, peering around in the fading light as an unnerving silence settled upon her. The wood seemed to be holding its breath; Leliana could feel her skin prickling as it transformed into gooseflesh.

An unexpected thud behind her kicked her instincts into full gear, and in one swift motion, she had drawn a dagger from her hip and whirled around, pressing it to the neck of her assailant as she pushed them against a tree.

"Sara!" she cried in recognition, both angered and relieved. "Where did you come from?"

Her eyes widened in disbelief as she followed the Warden's wordless gaze to a branch high above them. "How did you get up there?" she asked with wonder. Sara did not answer her question, instead looking down and meeting her eyes.

"Not a spy anymore, just an assassin then?" she asked when Leliana did not release her grip, raising her eyebrows as she glanced down at the hand holding the weapon to her neck.

Leliana scowled and removed the dagger. "I'm _not_-" she began heatedly.

"I know," Sara said quickly, grabbing her arm to keep the bard from turning away. "I was only teasing."

She sighed and touched the soft skin of the Warden's neck where the blade had just lain.

"I could have killed you," she mumbled, tracing the indentation delicately and searching her companion's eyes.

Leliana could feel on her lips that Sara's breath had grown rapid and shallow. Beneath the touch of her fingers she sensed the Warden's pulse quickening, and her heart leapt into her throat.

"I have something for you," Sara whispered.

Leliana drew back as the Warden raised her arm, a small bunch of flowers clutched in her hand. The bard's brow furrowed in curiosity, but her mouth curved into a smile nonetheless.

"Flowers?" she asked, unable to conceal her surprise.

As if in response, Sara lifted them a little closer to Leliana. Her confusion lasted only a moment longer; after an intake of breath, her eyes widened and she looked down at the makeshift bouquet. She breathed deeper, gathering them in her hands and inhaling their scent.

"These are…Andraste's grace!" She looked up at the Warden, a mix of emotions flitting across her face. "Sara, how-?"

Sara grinned and bit the inside of her cheek.

"My mother loved them as well. I had forgotten until you said their name. I thought perhaps I could find them for you," she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders.

"I can't- I don't-" Leliana stumbled over her words. "Thank you, Sara," she finally articulated. "This is…everything."

The Warden ducked her head sheepishly. "I'm glad you like them," she murmured in return, meeting the bard's eyes. Her heart skipped a beat, and she felt a pleasant knot in her stomach that she could not quite identify.

"I do," Leliana affirmed, taking a minute step forward. The movement was not unnoticed by Sara, who didn't realize she was holding her breath. "Very much so." The Warden felt her skin humming and swallowed her nerves as the bard continued. "I thought perhaps you had been avoiding me. After our conversation," Leliana tilted her head slightly, and Sara saw her companion's eyes move to her mouth and back again.

"No," the Warden's voice cracked. "I only-"

Suddenly Leliana's eyes grew wide with alarm.

"Shh," she pressed her hand over Sara's mouth and pushed her back against the tree, peering around the trunk.

Sara could hear it too, now - the distant sound of combat coming from the direction of their campsite. Over the clanging of metal, she heard a foreign voice cry out,

"_She's not here!_"

"_Search the forest!_" another shouted back. "_She's near._"

They looked at each other with alarm.

"More assassins?" breathed Sara.

Leliana shook her head, frowning. "The Crows would not yet know of his failure." But then a look of panic flashed across her face.

"What?" whispered Sara. The bard shook her head again and pointed to the tree above them. Before she could ask why, Leliana had melted into the darkness.

Sara swore and cast her eyes around frantically. She had no idea where the Orlesian had gotten off to, but she could hear twigs cracking beneath heavy footsteps nearby. She jumped high and grabbed the branch above her head, pulling herself up almost effortlessly. Pressing her back to the trunk and holding her breath, she knelt and looked down to the ground below. Seconds later, a figure she did not recognize appeared beneath her. He raised his sword, looking around cautiously. Sara watched him for a moment, and as he slowly turned around, she clenched her teeth and leapt.

She heard a sickening crunch beneath her as he crumpled to the ground and dropped his sword. As he cried out and writhed in pain, she jumped off of him and grabbed the hilt, bringing the point around to his face.

"On your feet," she said, holding the sword steady.

He shakily rose to his feet, supporting his arm and wincing in pain.

"Move," she growled, gesturing with his weapon to indicate the direction of the campsite. When he'd turned around, she stepped to him and grabbed him by his uninjured arm, pushing him hastily toward the clearing.

She was relieved to find that her companions seemed unharmed, if not somewhat shaken by the sudden attack. Alistair met her eyes, and it was evident that he was just as comforted to see that she was alive and well. Leliana emerged from the wood several feet from Sara – she saw that the bard was also unscathed, though she was drained of all color, and the panic that had seized her earlier was still clear on her face.

The Warden ruthlessly pushed her captive onto a log that had been dragged over since she'd stormed off. Drawing away from him, she held up his sword once more – the point was only inches from his neck.

"Given the quality of your weapon and armor," she said tersely, glancing around at handful of dead bodies scattered about the clearing, "you are likely not bandits." She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. "Who sent you?"

"I-I don't know," he stammered, blinking hard to keep the perspiration from his eyes. "We never got a name. Just an address," he swallowed, not taking his eyes from the sword point that hovered near his nose.

"Where?" she asked impatiently.

"Denerim." He told her the contact where they were to go to receive payment after finishing the job.

"And what exactly was 'the job'?" Sara asked.

"Kill the redhead," his eyes flitted briefly to Leliana, who was leaning weakly against a tree. "Do what we like with the rest."

"Kill- kill _her_?" It was Sara's turn to stutter now. Her brow creased deeply as she looked between her captive and the Orlesian. He nodded wordlessly, drawing back a little – apparently he'd noticed that the Warden's expression had gone from firm and inquisitive to deeply troubled.

Sara clenched her jaw and turned back to him. "Perhaps we should do unto you as you would have done to her." The sword shook with her rage.

"Sara," Wynne intoned calmly from across the clearing. "Your quarrel is not with this man."

The Warden closed her eyes and rolled her shoulder, trying to calm herself. Finally, her eyes snapped open. "Fine," she said, lowering the sword. "You may go, but this," she gestured with the hilt, "remains here."

"Thank you, serah," he inclined his head, voice wavering. He rose to his feet and hobbled off as quickly as his legs would allow.

As soon as he was out of sight, Sara dropped the sword and rushed to the Orlesian's side.

"Leliana," she said, kneeling on the ground in front of her. When the bard would not look at her, Sara slipped a hand gently beneath her chin and lifted her face. "What-" As soon as she began the question, however, she realized the answer. "Marjolaine," she whispered.

Leliana's eyes moved to Sara's. "It can only be her," she responded thickly. She tilted her head back against the tree and tried to steady her breathing. "I'm so sorry," the bard said finally.

"Now it is my turn to admonish you for apologizing," Sara said lightly, trying to ease the Orlesian's anguish.

"This is not a game," Leliana snapped, her blue eyes growing hard. Sara recoiled slightly in surprise; she could see the bard's jaw working. After a tense moment, she shook her head. "We always called it a game. The Grand Game," the Orlesian continued quietly, pressing a hand to her forehead. "But it never was. We were playing with people's _lives_. And now she is playing with yours," Leliana looked up at Sara, a flicker of panic in her eyes. "I should have never left Lothering. I have endangered all of you," her eyes moved to camp, where the others were making a poor show of ignoring their conversation.

"Leliana, we are all in danger every day," Sara urged, gripping the bard's hands tightly in her own. "For Andraste's sake, a Blight is upon us," she raised her eyebrows. When Leliana did not respond, Sara sighed and continued, "We are nearly to Denerim. When we arrive, we'll investigate the contact. She will not bother you again." The Warden's face was resolved, and there was a fire in her gaze that Leliana had not seen in some time.

The Orlesian looked back at her, and Sara saw a flicker of something unidentifiable in her eyes. Leliana shook her head. "You have already done more than enough for me, Sara. This is not your problem." She squeezed the Warden's hand briefly and climbed to her feet. "Thank you," she said again, this time in a stronger voice.

The Warden watched with puzzlement as the bard walked to the fire where Alistair was dishing out what would undoubtedly be a disappointing follow to last night's feast. Sara shook her head in confusion as she watched Leliana behaving as though a group of armored men had _not_ been sent to relieve her of her head.

After a moment, Sara rose to her feet and joined the others, rubbing Dani's ears absentmindedly when he padded up to her to beg for scraps. They ate dinner in near silence – the few words that were exchanged were between the two Wardens and Wynne, who finally had managed to get Sara to stay still long enough to smear some healing poultice on the gash in her leg.

Leliana ducked into her tent almost immediately after dinner, staying only long enough to help Sara clean. She had remained silent and withdrawn for the duration of the evening, and after retiring without saying goodnight to any of her companions, Sara finally decided to approach her about it. On her way to the bard's tent, she was intercepted by Alistair.

"Sara," he whispered, grabbing her arm. "What's going on?"

She looked at him, torn between shrugging him off and telling him everything. He and the others deserved to know what was going on, but she needed to figure out what was going on in Leliana's head.

"Later," she said, but when she tried to turn away, he would not let go. He looked at her with hurt and indignation. "Please," she begged, "just give me some time."

He clenched his jaw and searched her face before finally nodding and releasing her, returning to the fire. Sara turned back.

"Leliana?" she asked gently outside of her tent. There was a long pause, and when she opened her mouth to call out again, a response finally came from within.

"Come in." The voice was oddly cheerful.

Upon entering, Sara realized she'd never been in Leliana's tent. There was no particular reason for her to notice, given that their tents were identical, except that she saw the bard's lyre propped up in the corner.

"I'm…sorry to bother you," she began awkwardly, fumbling for her words. "I just, well- you were very quiet during dinner, and then you disappeared without saying goodnight…" she trailed off uncertainly for a moment. "I wanted to make sure you're okay."

Leliana smiled gratefully, but Sara could tell it was at least somewhat forced. "Thank you," she said. "I just need to be alone to think things over, and to think about your offer to pay Marjolaine a visit in Denerim." She smiled faintly at the Warden again.

"Right, well," she shifted uneasily. "I'll leave you alone, then. Goodnight," she ducked her head and backed out of the tent.

Alistair's stern look when she emerged left her no choice but to approach him. He made room for her on the log by the fire and she plopped down next to him, rubbing her temples with her fingers.

"Is she alright?" he asked.

"Yes. No. I don't know," she sighed. "She's definitely pretending to be." She shook her head and closed her eyes. "There are some things you should know…"

She launched into what she thought was an informative but respectfully vague summary of Leliana's past and why the mercenaries had come after them tonight. When she was done, she found Alistair's jaw dropped in astonishment.

"She's a _spy_?" he asked too loudly, his voice cracking.

"She _was_," Sara corrected him, remembering her original conversation with the bard with a pang of guilt. "She's not any more."

"Are you sure?" he asked, raising his eyebrows impossibly high. "I mean after Loghain sent Zevran after us-"

"Alistair, if she were here to kill us, she could have done it ages ago," she snapped in a hush voice. "Your unholy cooking could easily conceal a variety of poisons."

He cocked his head, "True enough. Poor thing…" he murmured, looking at her tent. "Betrayed by-" he frowned and looked sharply at Sara. "Wait a minute – when you say Leliana 'loved her,' how do you mean? Loved her like a sister? Like a cousin? Like a really good friend? Like an aunt? Like-"

"Like a lover?" Sara said, mimicking his tone. His eyes widened briefly and the flush of red began its familiar travel up his neck.

"Ah, so, then-" he made a couple sounds that Sara supposed were meant to be words, "lovers, like, with…" he cleared his throat and straightened up. "Hmm," he mused, looking at her tent once more. Despite his awkwardness, his face held genuine concern. "Well, I suppose that makes it even worse, doesn't it?"

"That is does," Sara murmured, fighting the urge to go back into Leliana's tent. She wasn't even quite sure what she would have done if she'd made it back in there, but given how she'd acted earlier, she clearly wouldn't be the suave, comforting hero who said all of the right things. She grumbled incoherently and rose from the log. "Just keep an eye on her tent, alright?" she asked. Glancing at Morrigan, who was standing by her customary far-removed fire, she added, "and try not to kill each other on your watch tonight."

"Ay, ay, captain," he mock-saluted her. She rolled her eyes and headed to her own tent.

"Good_night_, Alistair," she called back in irritation, suppressing a smile.

xxx

"Well, well," said Morrigan, crossing her arms as a bemused smile played across her face. "So the Chantry wench is not so innocent after all? A spy, a female lover, and now a blood oath. It seems I underestimated her."

Ignoring the witch and her approving tone, Sara ran her fingers through her dark hair and paced back and forth in front of Leliana's tent, swearing repeatedly.

"How did this happen?" she demanded, whirling on the group. "How did nobody see her leave?" Dani's ears pricked up at her harsh tone. Sara began pacing again, talking to herself more than the others, "We have two people on watch at all times-" she stopped in her tracks and turned deliberately to look at Alistair and Morrigan. "Tell me, how was your watch last night?" she asked, feigning a polite smile. Morrigan stared back at her impassively – just as she had predicted, it was Alistair who cracked.

"I'm sorry, Sara," he said, clasping his hands together. "We were arguing only for a minute-"

"_We _were not arguing; _I _was defending myself," the witch said pointedly.

"What?!" he cried incredulously. "You said you would be unable to tell me apart from the log due to our 'remarkably similar intellectual capacities'," he quoted her indignantly.

"You had it coming," she said simply, "making inappropriate comments to me."

"I asked if you wanted to come sit with me!" he exclaimed exasperatedly.

"Enough!" yelled Sara, throwing up her hands. "Denerim is a full day and a half of travel and she already has a lead of half a day," she rubbed her face with her hands. Truth be told, the Warden only assumed Leliana was headed for Denerim. But the way the bard had looked when Sara offered to kill Marjolaine was unmistakable now. She had no idea how she hadn't recognized it before, given her intimate relationship with it - the look Leliana had worn was one of vengeance.

Sara glanced around the camp, "We don't have time to pack everything up. I will take a small party ahead and the rest of you can catch up. Alistair and Morrigan will come with me" She turned to the Qunari, "Sten, will you help Wynne pack and follow us?" He nodded solemnly and began disassembling his tent. "_You_ make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," she added to the mabari, indicating Zevran.

"Sara, are you sure you want to do this?" Alistair asked uncertainly. "You have no idea what we're getting into, if one of us gets hurt, or both-"

"We won't," she snapped, putting on the rest of her armor hurriedly. "Get ready," she told them, turning back to her boots.

"Warden," said Wynne, approaching her. "This is unwise. Alistair is right – you are the only remaining Grey Wardens, and your duty is to stop the Blight, not go running passionately after people you love."

Sara narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I have seen how the two of you behave," Wynne said. "You must know that your duty as a Warden comes before all else – you do not have the luxury of love that many others have."

"If you truly believe that I would not do this for everyone else, you are greatly mistaken," replied Sara hoarsely.

Wynne remained silent for a moment, staring hard into the Warden's eyes. Finally, she sighed, "Perhaps you are right, Sara." She shook her head. "This is ill-advised, but maybe not for the reasons I believed. Still," she took Sara's hand, "you must use the utmost caution." Her look suggested she greatly disapproved of the Warden's actions, but she said nothing further.

She nodded and squeezed the mage's hand before releasing it. "We will see you soon, Wynne." She turned back to Alistair and Morrigan. "Let's go," she said, turning on her heel and heading in the direction of Denerim, not looking back to see if the others followed.

xxx

Despite the good time they made without packs or equipment, they still arrived outside the city walls of Denerim well after nightfall. Morrigan put out the small fireball she'd conjured to light their way as they approached. When they saw that the city gates had been closed for the night, Alistair groaned and the witch muttered something under her breath about "terrible ideas" and "noble inbreeding."

But Sara had anticipated this.

"Come on," she said, leading them along the high exterior walls and keeping to the shadows and out of the sight of the guards that manned the towers along the perimeter. "When Fergus and I were younger, our family would often visit Denerim," her stomach knotted at the memories, but she continued. "We would…explore the back alleys, and we found a hole in one of the walls where the stone had fallen away. We used to sneak out of the city at night to play 'chicken,' walking farther and farther away until one of us got scared and turned back." A playful grin that Alistair had never seen crossed her face. "I always won."

The Templar looked slightly amazed. "Your parents let you do that?" he asked.

Sara snorted. "No," she answered. "That was kind of the point," the grin remained on her face momentarily, but quickly faded as she refocused on the task at hand. They walked for several minutes in silence before the Warden found what she was seeking, "Ah," she said as they approached, "it should be around here- yes! There!" she scrambled over to a small gap between the stones that Alistair could barely make out in the dark. The Templar looked dubiously at the hole.

"I'm not sure I'll make it through that…" he said slowly, looking down at himself. "Because, you know, of my large muscles and such," he straightened back up. Morrigan opened her mouth to respond but Sara spoke first,

"Well just take off your armor and pass it through separately," she told him. "I'll go first." She got down onto her stomach and crawled through the gap easily. Although Morrigan would have made it through with even more room to spare, she elected to change into a snake and slide through – likely to make Alistair, who had an unusually strong fear of such creatures, uncomfortable. If so, it had the intended effect.

"When you're done whimpering pass your armor to me," Sara said testily. Leliana had probably been in Denerim for hours, and the thought of her being harmed or worse- she shook the thought from her head as a sudden wave of nausea hit her.

Alistair removed most of his armor and passed it to her, crouching down as Sara had done and wriggling through. Sara reached down and tugged him impatiently, pulling him out with surprising strength. Once he was through, he dusted himself off and hurriedly redressed in his armor, taking off down the alley after Sara with Morrigan in tow.

It had been years since Sara visited Denerim but she navigated the sketchy roads quickly and without error. There were few people in the back alleys at night, as they were a notorious haven for bandits and other less-savory fellows, and they emerged in the market district undetected in short time.

"It should be this way," she whispered, following the front walls that enclosed the Chantry courtyard. They zigzagged through the market district, ducking into the shadows where possible, and finally came to the address the assassin had given them.

"This is it?" Alistair asked dubiously.

"Well I imagine she'd want to lay low," murmured Sara, frowning at the nondescript house. "Come on," she started towards the door.

She reached out and tried the doorknob tentatively, expecting it to be locked. When she touched it, however, it swung open easily. Tendrils of dread began creeping out from her stomach – the door had not even been closed. Feeling along the doorway for traps and finding none, she took a cautious step in and squinted in the dim light of a lantern hanging just inside.

There was a sickening _squish_ as she took a second step, and she looked down nervously – blood pooled the floors of the small entry room, only partially dried in some areas. She swallowed her nerves and took another step, scanning the ground and seeing three dead and bloodied guards lying in unnatural positions around the room. Alistair let out a low whistle, barely audible above the squishing sound as he entered, and Morrigan made a small noise of what sounded like approval.

Sara drew a dagger and reached towards the door, watching her hand shake as it wrapped around the doorknob. She took a deep breath and swallowed, turning it and throwing the door open in one swift movement.

She squinted in the sudden brightness of the room. After a moment, her vision adjusted and she gasped, moving to rush forward to the battered body of her companion.

"Leliana-" she cried.

"Ah, you are here at last," sighed an accented voice from the corner of the room. Sara jumped, startled, and drew her other dagger, bringing them both to the ready. "Now, now," continued the voice. A dark-haired woman came forward and held up her hands. "Let us not be so quick to draw, hmm?"

Her Orlesian accent was quite a bit stronger than Leliana's, and Sara's grip tightened on her weapons in recognition as she stared her down.

"Marjolaine," she growled.

"Oh!" she cried with feigned glee. "It appears I am famous."

The Warden heard the hiss of Alistair drawing his sword and took a chance to look at the bard. She was tied to a chair in the center of the room - she could see flecks of dried blood smattered across her fair skin, and her auburn hair was dirty and matted. Her head hung to her chest, and Sara realized with a thrill of fear that she was either unconscious, or worse.

"So nice to see that my Leliana has found somebody who cares so much for her," Marjolaine drawled casually, noticing the fire that burned in Sara's eyes.

"She's not _your_ Leliana," Sara snarled. She took a step towards the bardmaster but froze when a small moan escaped her companion's lips. Leliana's head began swaying slightly as she slowly pulled it up with great effort, groaning in pain. Abandoning all instincts, the Warden rushed to her side and fell onto her knees, daggers clattering to the floor as she reached to gently cup the bard's face. Behind her, Alistair stepped protectively between Marjolaine and his companions, and Morrigan, though irritated by Sara's thoughtless behavior, raised the staff in her hand readily.

"You came for me," Leliana whispered hoarsely. Her eyes were teary and grateful, but she looked impossibly sad. "You should not have."

Sara could not bring herself to speak as she examined the damage done to her companion – a deep gash in the bard's lip, a dark purple laceration beneath her eye, and a smattering of other bruises across her face and neck. Sara's jaw worked wordlessly as she snatched up her daggers and turned towards the bardmaster, stepping away from Leliana.

"So," mused Marjolaine. "You are the reason she refused to say where her companions were, no?" she continued, clicking her tongue. "She is very pretty, Leliana, but I am surprised. She seems a little…rough around the edges. But perhaps," she tilted her head and smiled wickedly at the bard, "she is different when you are alone."

"You have no right to speak to her," said Alistair defensively, advancing on Marjolaine. "You evil-"

"Evil?" interrupted Marjolaine, laughing playfully. "If I am evil, your dear friend must be as well, no? Or perhaps she has not told you of her past deeds." The bardmaster raised an eyebrow as she sauntered over to Leliana. Sara started forward as well, but Morrigan shot out an arm to stop her.

"No," she hissed in the Warden's ear. "_Think_, Sara. Leliana killed three guards alone but then 'twas captured by this woman?"

Sara froze. The witch was right; Marjolaine seemed unarmed, and she moved and spoke slowly, but Leliana was a competent fighter – for her to be so completely incapacitated was…alarming.

The bardmaster continued, smiling bemusedly. "She was my crown jewel," she said, placing a hand on the bard's shoulder. "An expert in assassination, coercion…seduction," she looked at Sara. "Tell me, has she seduced you yet? You cannot be blamed if she has – she is," Marjolaine traced a finger down Leliana's neck, "irresistible."

The bard shivered. "No, Marjolaine," she pleaded quietly. "I am not that person anymore."

Marjolaine threw back her head and laughed. "You were always that person, my pretty thing, and you always will be! You cannot tell me that your life in the cloister in this disgusting country or this short, messy hair," she grasped at a stray lock of hair with disgust, "is who you are. You _enjoyed _the game – the intrigue, the challenge. And you were so good at it," she crooned. "Just like me."

"I am nothing like you," Leliana spat.

The slap came out of nowhere - Marjolaine hit her with enough force to knock her chair to the ground and there was a sickening crack as Leliana's arm was crushed beneath the weight. She cried out in pain and struggled against her ropes.

"Foolish girl!" Marjolaine shrieked. She leaned down closer to the bard's face. "We are one in the same, Leliana," she whispered in a strangled voice.

Suddenly, Sara was upon her. She'd thrown herself full-force at the bardmaster, wrapping her arms around her waist as she brought her to the ground. At the sound of Marjolaine's cry, the two doors on the sides of the room flew open, and several mercenaries rushed in. Sara's focus was dedicated to the bardmaster – she was, as the Warden had suspected, armed with hidden weapons. In their battle, she could see glimpses of the deadly assassin that Marjolaine had once been, but she did not engage in fighting as frequently as she once did. Her less strenuous lifestyle coupled with her older age left her tiring easily, and Sara found that she needed only to dart around the Orlesian, dodging her blows, before she had her opportunity to strike.

Though Alistair and Morrigan had been outnumbered, they were the better fighters, and soon only Sara and Marjolaine were left in battle. The Templar rushed over to Leliana and cut the ropes that freed her, cringing when he saw her arm dangling uselessly at her side.

"Give me your sword," she demanded. Alistair's eyes went wide.

"I- what? No!" he exclaimed, holding it away from her.

The Orlesian's eyes burned angrily for a moment before she looked about and snatched a fire poker from the hearth. Before he could stop her, she was advancing towards the bardmaster from behind, clutching the weapon in her good hand.

Sara watched with growing pleasure as Marjolaine grew more and more tired. She only needed to wait for her moment to strike-

She slipped and fell to one knee. A pool of blood had spread unseen behind the Warden, and she was now kneeling in the stuff. She watched with horror as a triumphant look flashed across Marjolaine's face. The bardmaster lunged for her chest with the dagger.

But as she moved towards Sara, she faltered, and her dagger instead found its home in the Warden's shoulder. She cried out as Marjolaine fell on top of her, knocking her back into the shallow puddle of blood. Over the bardmaster's shoulder, she could see the iron poker protruding awkwardly from her back. Sara scrambled out from beneath her, slipping in the blood and stumbling to her feet. She hissed loudly as she yanked the dagger free, tossing it aside and looking about at her companions.

Leliana collapsed to the floor a few feet from her, cradling her left arm and clenching her eyes shut.

"Alistair," said Sara quietly, favoring her own injured arm. "Will you carry her? I'm going to check the rooms. Best to make sure she didn't have anything else planned."

The Templar nodded and stepped over to the bard, gently sliding his arms beneath her legs and good shoulder. She gritted her teeth in pain as he lifted her.

"She cracked my knee," she told him through her clenched jaw.

"I'll be careful," he reassured her.

Sara emerged from one of the side rooms, shaking her head. She jerked her chin to the front of the house. He and Morrigan followed her out into the street, finding that the sun had already begun to rise. They headed out of the open city gates and hoped that the others had already caught up to them.


	17. Healing

_*Disclaimer: anything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare_

**Chapter 9 – Healing**

"Hold _still_," Morrigan snapped, grabbing Sara's arm firmly.

"Sorry," she grumbled, turning back to face the witch.

They had encountered Wynne, Sten and Zevran on the main road to Denerim shortly after leaving the city earlier that morning. The group made camp in a copse of trees about a ten minutes' walk east of the road. At Sara's request, Sten had quickly erected Leliana's tent first, so that Wynne could begin what would likely be a long process of healing the bard's various injuries. Morrigan, meanwhile, had unenthusiastically volunteered to work on the deep wound in Sara's shoulder, but she was finding the Warden impossible to deal with. Despite the witch's repeated commands, she insisted on twisting around every ten seconds and craning to get a glimpse of Leliana's tent.

"The more you move, the longer 'twill take to heal you. You are only prolonging the time until you see your beloved bard," she said bitingly, concentrating to work small bits of magic methodically through the gaping hole. She had not meant the comment to be particularly insinuative, but at the same time, Morrigan had not missed their leader's behavior at Marjolaine's home in Denerim. To her satisfaction, she found that her words finally had the intended effect on Sara, who managed to remain still.

After what seemed like an eternity to the Warden, Morrigan finally drew back and sighed. "'Tis the best I was able to do," she said, examining the impressive scar that had been left behind. The witch's healing powers were rudimentary, given that she'd only learned the barest of necessities from Flemeth.

"Thank you," Sara said, inclining her head slightly as she looked at Morrigan. The witch averted her eyes and pretended to busy herself with putting away the assorted herbs she'd used.

"'Twas nothing," she muttered, made uncomfortable by Sara's gratitude. Such overt thankfulness was foreign to her, especially for things that were done out of necessity. Noticing her discomfort, the Warden looked away and shifted awkwardly to examine the remaining damage. She tested her arm for pain and flexibility, and finding that she wasn't hindered in the least, she was pleased – and she actually kind of liked the scar. As a child, Sara had spent her time primarily with boys, specifically Fergus and his friends. They enjoyed showing off each other's scars and exchanging stories; the Warden supposed that some of that pride and respect for such blemishes had rubbed off on her.

She rose and looked at Leliana's tent again. Wynne had been in there for nearly three hours, and everyone had been forbidden from entering until further notice. Biting her lip, she joined Alistair by the small fire as he warily watched Zevran cook breakfast.

"Perhaps we should purchase some spices to add some taste to our food, no?" he asked the Templar as Sara sat down. "Well, _good_ taste," he added, pushing the food around a thin metal sheet that was propped over the fire.

"Right, 'spices'," replied Alistair. "The day I let you put any sort of 'spice' into my food is the day I sign my death warrant," he muttered, watching the elf unblinkingly.

Sara snorted and reached down to pat Dani, who was stretched lazily at her feet. "Give it a rest, Alistair," she said. "While we were gone he could have easily killed Wynne and St-" she stopped mid-sentence as her eyes flickered to the Qunari, who was methodically drawing a whetstone against _Asala's_ already razor-sharp edges. "Well, perhaps not so easily," she amended quickly.

She turned around sharply at the sound of a tent flap. Wynne was emerging slowly from Leliana's tent, looking pale and exhausted. Sara jumped up and rushed over, but the mage held up her hand.

"She needs her rest now, Sara." She grimaced as she straightened up and tilted her head from side to side, "As do I. You may see her in a couple hours, and she will most likely be weakened for day or two at least. There were…" she hesitated, "many hidden injuries."

Sara swallowed back the burning heat and bile that quickly rose up in her throat. She nodded and stepped aside, allowing Wynne to pass as she proceeded to her own tent.

"Shall I bring you breakfast?" the Warden called out tentatively.

Wynne paused to look back, smiling faintly. The girl was headstrong and painfully touchy at times, but she cared deeply. "No, thank you, dear. It would be better for me to just rest right now." Sara nodded and watched the mage momentarily before returning to the fire.

Alistair handed her a bowl of what Zevran had prepared – rice with eggs and scallions – before helping himself greedily to his own mountain of food. Apparently he had decided to suspend his suspicion of the elf's intentions.

They ate in companionable silence; even Morrigan had decided to join in without hurling any insults at Alistair. Once they'd finished, the Templar waved Sara away, insisting on doing the cleaning himself. He had not missed the way that his fellow Warden kept glancing at Leliana's tent during their meal. Eventually Sara acquiesced and moved away from the soiled flatware, standing awkwardly near the fire and fidgeting in place. Finally, after staring at the bard's tent for several minutes, she started towards it, unable to stop herself. Pausing at the entrance, she leaned down toward the small gap in the flaps and called out to her companion hesitantly.

"Come in." The response was quiet but immediate. She inhaled nervously and stepped through the flaps.

As soon as she entered the tent, Sara had to bite down hard on her lip to keep a small cry from escaping. Leliana looked even more broken than she had when they'd found her in Denerim. The bruises were somewhat lighter and her arm no longer hung limply at her side, but there was still a smattering of discolorations and cuts around her face. Sara realized with horror that several bruises on her neck were in the shape of a hand, as if she'd been gripped tightly about the throat. What tore at her the most, however, were the Orlesian's eyes – lines of exhaustion were gathered beneath them, and when she looked at Sara, they did not hold their usual light.

"I hope I'm not bothering you," she said quietly, trying to maintain a neutral face. The bard shook her head wordlessly and looked away. "May I sit down?" she asked. She wasn't sure why she was being so formal, but it felt more appropriate than traipsing casually into her tent and plopping down as if they were about to braid each other's hair and talk about boys.

Leliana nodded, still avoiding eye contact. Sara took a couple hesitant steps and sat down near where her companion was propped up, clutching the blankets and staring blankly into space. "I'm glad you're…better," she said, cringing inwardly at her words. Her noble upbringing instilled in her the need to make conversation and avoid silence whenever possible, and the quiet that had descended upon them in the tent had her insides screaming in discomfort. Truth be told, she had nearly said 'alright' instead of 'better,' but if she had learned anything since Leliana's disappearance, it was that her companion was anything but alright.

An urge to continue speaking tugged at her as the silence settled upon them again, but Sara forced it from her mind. Instead, she slowly reached out a hand towards the bard's shoulder, unsure if she was even entirely aware of her presence.

"Why did you come for me?" Leliana's voice was hushed, but her sudden words and movement of her head startled Sara, who quickly recoiled.

"I…" she began before thoroughly considering the question. Her brow furrowed – following Leliana had seemed the only option to her at the time, but now she couldn't quite find the words to explain her behavior. "Why shouldn't I have?" she asked instead.

The Orlesian's face remained neutral except for a slightly raised eyebrow. "Because I lied to you, endangered you, ran off in the night…and because you almost got yourself and the others killed," she closed her eyes at the memory of Marjolaine lunging towards Sara.

"She would have killed _you_ if I hadn't come," the Warden insisted quietly, laying her hand on top of Leliana's clenched fist.

"You shouldn't have," she whispered hoarsely, a single tear slipping between her closed eyelids and sliding down her cheek.

Sara felt something crashing in her chest as she worked through the implications of Leliana's words. She knew the bard felt, as the she herself still occasionally did, that she should've been left to die. "I came after you," she said, the words coming to her now, "because I couldn't lose you." She exhaled shakily, her heartbeat quickening with anxiety as the words tumbled from her lips. Leliana shifted her eyes to her leader but said nothing. Sara gave a small shake of her head.

"I lost all but my brother to Howe's betrayal," she said quietly, looking down at her hands. "The only thing – well, aside from Duncan – that allowed my feet to continue moving me towards Ostagar was the hope that I would find Fergus there." Her eyes moved to meet the bard's. "I did not," Sara added simply. "After that day, I had no family. Only a singular mission to end the Blight. But…" she paused, uncertain how to articulate her thoughts, "in time, I came to have family again. Alistair, you, everyone – even Morrigan," she added, seeing the bard raise her eyebrows slightly. "You are my kin." The Warden shrugged helplessly. "The only choice I had was to come for you."

Leliana's eyes had filled with tears as Sara talked, and at her final words, she could hold them back no longer. The Warden pulled her close and rested her cheek atop her companion's red hair, allowing them to sit as the bard's shoulders shook silently.

She didn't know how long they sat like that, with Leliana resting her head against the Warden's chest as she clung desperately to her tunic, but when they pulled apart, her companion looked utterly drained. Sara reached her hand up and gently wiped away the last tears with her thumb.

"What was it like to see her again?" the Warden asked. A tactless question, perhaps, but Sara wondered – how would it feel if she saw Howe again?

A bitter laugh escaped the bard's lips. "Marjolaine brought my darkest memories back to life," she replied, absentmindedly rubbing her thumb against the fingernail that had been pried up by the Val Royaux prison guards years ago.

"But why did she come after you now?" Sara asked. "You'd been in the Chantry for years – surely she didn't see you as a threat."

"She thought it was a ruse," the bard muttered darkly. "She believed I'd left Lothering to come after her. That is why she," Leliana shivered, "kept asking me where you were – she believed you were my conspirators. My refusal to answer her only added to her conviction."

"I'm so sorry," Sara whispered, tracing her fingers along the bruises on the Orlesian's neck. At the Warden's touch, she inhaled unsteadily, trying to force back a wave of dizziness. Even with everything going on – everything she was battling inside – Leliana could still sense a flutter in her chest at the feel of Sara's hand.

"I loved her," the redhead exhaled after a moment. "It hurts me – embarrasses me – to say it now, but I loved her. Blindly," she looked at Sara, her eyes welling up again. "I truly believed she loved me, but she betrayed me. Every night for more than two years I relived that torture, until…" she trailed off. She knew what the Warden thought of her vision, and she couldn't quite bring herself to say it out loud, though she knew Sara would never mock her for it. "And last night," she continued instead, "she made my nightmares a reality once more. The woman I used to love." She closed her eyes. "That's what hurts the most."

"She'll never be able to hurt you again," said Sara, reaching for the bard once more. But Leliana pulled away,

"Because I killed her!" she exclaimed. "In the end, I was no better than her-"

"You killed her to save me," the Warden countered. But Leliana shook her head,

"I would have ended her life anyway." She laughed sardonically. "Marjolaine was right! I _am_ like her."

"You're not like her at all!" Sara cried incredulously. "She told you those things-"

"Because they were _true_," her voice was rising. "They were true, Sara. I enjoyed my life as a bard – it was exciting, learning other people's secrets, gaining their confidence-"

"Killing them?" Sara asked sharply, though she knew the answer.

The Orlesian stopped. "No," she conceded. "I did not enjoy that. But it didn't stop me."

Sara took Leliana's hands, "I saw Marjolaine – the look on her face. She _enjoyed_ causing you pain," she said emphatically. "You're not like that."

The bard remained silent, only looking at her with no small amount of uncertainty. Seeing that her companion remained unconvinced, Sara added, "People who are evil don't worry about being evil."

For the first time since they'd left Marjolaine's, the Warden could see a spark of hope in Leliana's eyes.

"I suppose that is true," the redhead conceded slowly. Sara grasped the Orlesian's hand – she could not help a small smile at seeing some life return to her friend's face.

Watching the Warden's green eyes searching her own, Leliana felt a surge of something in her chest. She had spent many of her waking moments wondering if Marjolaine ever did love her at any point; it sickened her to think that their entire relationship had been a ruse. Thinking back now, she could never recall a time when Marjolaine looked upon her with the same care and compassion with which Sara looked at her now. And earlier, in the forest, when the Warden had presented her with the bunch of Andraste's Grace – Leliana's head spun just thinking about it. Here they were again, only inches from each other; she watched as Sara's eyes moved from her eyes to her mouth and back again. Slowly, the Warden lifted her free hand and traced the outline of the bard's jaw, gently skirting over the bruises left by Marjolaine.

"The entire way to Denerim," the Warden began quietly, swallowing a small lump in her throat, "I felt this dread gripping me from inside; I couldn't move quickly enough. The thought that something had happened to you-" she faltered, giving a small shake of her head and taking a breath. Meeting the bard's eyes, she continued, "I have known treachery of the highest magnitude." Leliana watched the Warden's eyes harden momentarily just before they softened to a nostalgic kindness she had seen only a handful of times before. "And I have known a love so great that it did not back down even from death." A sad smile touched Sara's face as she remembered the Teyrna's refusal to leave her husband's side. She swallowed again, gripping Leliana's hand more tightly. "I did not believe I would find anything again in Thedas so beautiful, so worth fighting for." Another smile, this time without a trace of sorrow. "But then you found a rose blooming in a lifeless garden, and I found you." The Warden leaned almost imperceptibly towards Leliana, the air between them thrumming with anticipation.

The bard could feel a tornado of emotions swirling within her. Mere days ago, she would have wept at the look in Sara's eyes, the earnestness in her voice. But the seed of doubt planted by Marlojaine had taken root deep within her mind. She believed that what she felt for Sara was real, was good, but a small part of her feared that she had become so skilled at deception that she did not even know herself. And even as her breathing grew rapid and shallow, even as she tilted her head to accept a kiss she had wanted for so long, her reservation crept up and she pulled back ever so slightly.

"Sara…" she whispered. The Warden drew up short, meeting Leliana's eyes and suddenly looking completely abashed.

"I'm sorry," she muttered quickly, a flush of red coloring her neck and face. She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the bard's protest. "I must have misread…" she trailed off, stepping towards the exit.

"Just let me explain-" Leliana tried to be heard over Sara's repeated apologies, but it was to no avail. In a blink, she was gone, the quiet hiss of the tent flap the only hint that she'd been there at all.


	18. A Clue

_Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 10 – A Clue<strong>

Sara stumbled out of Leliana's tent, frenzied and breathless.

"It is a little hot for this time of year, is it not?" Zevran mused, observing her flushed state.

Her eyes flitted to where he lay by the dying fire, and she grumbled something incomprehensible. Pressing her palms into her eyes and trying to will her stomach to unclench itself, she changed the topic,

"Where is Alistair?"

"He retired for a nap," he responded. "If only he had accepted my offer to join him…" sighed the elf. "Not that he would have gotten much rest."

"Wh-" she started to say before shaking her head. "I don't have time for this," she muttered. "I need to go back to Denerim and check up on this Genitivi fellow," she said more loudly, drawing the attention of Sten and Morrigan. "I'd rather not go alone. Perhaps someone…" she looked uncertainly at the hulking Qunari, "inconspicuous…could join me?" She glanced at Zevran and raised an eyebrow. Elven servants were common enough that nobody would likely look twice at a young woman accompanied by an elf. He scrambled up and bounded over to her.

"To spend some time alone with such a beauty would be an honor," he bowed ostentatiously.

"Morrigan?" Sara asked quickly.

"Do you not think it imprudent for us to return to Denerim after what transpired last night?" she responded curtly.

The Warden looked at her as if she was being ridiculous. "We went there _under the cover of night_. Specifically to avoid detection! If you'd rather not come you only need to say so."

The witch sighed dramatically and put her book down before walking slowly to join the others.

"Are you certain you do not want me alone?" Zevran asked, looking between the two women. "Very well, I accept," he added with a lecherous grin.

Sara groaned and rolled her eyes, retrieving her leathers from her tent. She pulled them on and wrapped her thick belt around her waist, buckling it so that her daggers sat snugly in their usual place at her hips. She considered going to wake Alistair and have him join them, but thought better of it. Denerim, after all, was the territory of both Loghain _and_ Howe, who, Bodahn informed her, had been named the Arl of Ferelden's capital. It was not unlikely that their men had been given descriptions of herself and the Templar. Perhaps traveling with Morrigan and Zevran instead would throw them off.

"Come on," she said as she swung a small bag over her shoulder. "We can buy supplies while we're there. Sten," she called out, but he was already nodding at her. She glanced worriedly at the other tents.

"Fear not, Warden," he told her in his deep voice. "They will remain safe."

She nodded and turned toward the direction of Denerim.

xxx

"Brother Genitivi has been gone for some time," the young man told them, wringing his hands nervously.

Sara suppressed an exasperated sigh. They couldn't very well obtain the aid of Arl Eamon if he was dead, and this was getting them no closer to the Urn.

"I'm sorry to hear that Weylon," she said, glancing over his shoulder into the back room. There were a number of fully-stocked bookshelves and what looked like some kind of journal lying on a table. "Perhaps we could take a look around for any hints as to where he might have been headed."

"No," he responded quickly, stepping between them. The sheepishness and worry was gone now from his face, replaced by a sort of fierce determination.

She drew back, startled, and glanced at her companions. Zevran's hands were drifting toward his weapons and Morrigan's face made her skepticism plain.

"I'm sorry, but it is of utmost importance that we find the Urn," she tried again. "If we could just look for a moment," she took a step towards the back room.

"No!" he cried again, drawing a small dagger from his hip and lunging at the Warden.

The altercation didn't last long. When he lay dead in front of them, Sara looked at her companions with bewilderment. Zevran looked mildly amused but the witch simply looked bored.

"Now is your chance, Warden," she drawled, tilting her head towards the back room.

"Right," she muttered, stepping gingerly over the body and heading for the journal lying on the table. She picked it up and began flipping through the pages but was distracted by a noise from the elf. Glancing at him, she followed his gaze to a decomposing corpse in the back corner of the room.

"Oh," she crinkled her nose and approached the cadaver, breathing through her mouth as she leaned over to examine it. It appeared to be the body of a young man similar in stature and coloring to the one they had just killed. She walked back to the body of the supposed Weylon and bent down to look more closely. Turning him over, she saw on the back of his neck a small tattoo of a dragon with outstretched wings. She had no idea what it meant, but dragons were not exactly revered in Thedas; to have a tattoo of one was extremely odd. "Hmm," she mused, looking up at the others. "I think perhaps the real Weylon has been dead for sometime." She rose to her feet and flipped through the journal, finding the most recent entry. "It says here that he was last headed to…Haven?" she read uncertainly, looking up at Morrigan and Zevran. From their expressions, she deduced that neither of them had ever heard of the village either. Sighing and snapping the book shut, she jerked her head towards the door. "Let's get some supplies and head back to camp."

xxx

As soon as they returned to the campsite, Sara immediately set off to hunt something for dinner, as she'd obviously not caught any game when she was in the forest earlier that day. She returned quickly enough and gave Alistair the unsavory task of cleaning the meat for Zevran to cook. At the elf's suggestion, they'd purchased some spices to use for dinner, much to the Templar's chagrin. In the interest of maintaining peace in the party, however, he'd finally acquiesced to everyone's request that he please, _please_ not cook tonight.

"Are you sure you don't want to borrow it?" he asked Zevran, holding out the crumpled and slightly stained but unmistakably flowery apron he usually wore to cook. "Playing chef can get quite messy."

"Ah," the elf began. "No, thank you, my effeminate friend. I prefer to live my life on the edge."

"I am not effeminate!" he exclaimed, but Sara patted him comfortingly on the shoulder.

"You are," she said, shrugging. "But that's why we love you. You're going to make some woman very happy someday. Cooking for her, cleaning for her…making house for her…" she trailed off, flipping through the pages of Brother Genitivi's journal, "picking flowers…"

"Alright, alright! I get it," he said, throwing down his apron. "I'm going to wash off," he grumbled as he stood up.

"Shall I braid your hair for you when you're finished?" Sara asked, turning a page and not looking up from the book. She felt his scowl on her back and was unable to suppress a smile that quickly faded as she stared at the name "Haven" in Genitivi's journal. As far as she knew, none of her companions had heard of the village either.

A shadow cast across the page and she glanced up to see who it was. Her stomach knotted when she saw Leliana standing above her. The bard looked bruised and exhausted still, but at least she was able to walk.

"May I sit down?" she asked. Sara gave an almost imperceptible nod and moved over. With great effort, Leliana lowered herself slowly to the seat. "What book is that?" she asked, gesturing to the journal.

"It's Brother Genitivi's records," she mumbled, her embarrassment from earlier coloring her cheeks. "He wasn't at his home and his assistant was dead. We think." She added.

"Do you know where he is?" The Warden seemed reluctant to speak to her, but so far their conversation was going better than she'd hoped.

Sara sighed. "Yes. And no," she looked down at the page. "He's in Haven, or at least on his way."

"Haven?" Leliana asked, frowning. "Where is that?"

"If only I knew," she murmured.

"We'll figure it out," the bard said kindly, placing her hand on top of Sara's. She flinched and started to pull away, but Leliana gripped her hand. Sara looked up and nervously met her eyes – the Orlesian looked…something.

_Apologetic, maybe_, Sara thought. Leliana opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. _Probably just going to tell me she's sorry she led me on_, the voice in her head was bitter.

The creaking sound of a wagon rolling into the campsite caught Sara's attention and she looked away. It was Bodahn and his son, returning to spend the night in the safety of their company.

"We need more supplies," she muttered, glad for a reason to leave. She pulled her hand away and walked over to the dwarves. Leliana frowned - she was completely aware that the Warden had just recently returned from town not only with Genitivi's journal but also with a full bag of supplies. She recognized the girl's abrupt departure for what it was - an excuse to get away.

Sara, meanwhile, was thoroughly confused by the bard's behavior – two days ago, she felt certain that her feelings were reciprocated, but after the mortifying incident earlier…she shuddered at the memory.

"Good evening, serah!" the dwarf called merrily as she approached.

"Bodahn," she said curtly, inclining her head. She was in no mood for his gossiping or flattery this evening. "Let's see what you've got for us tonight."

"As you wish, m'lady," he responded.

She gave the cart a cursory glance, picking out the staple items they always seemed to be in need of. Her eyes swept over something she hadn't noticed before – a heavyset stone rod, engraved with markings she couldn't understand. She picked it up and examined it more closely.

"Bodahn?" she began, squinting at the markings. "What is this?"

"Ah," he said, coming over to her. "Picked that up from a merchant about a day's travel east of Redcliffe – it's a golem control rod."

"Control rod?" she asked in surprise. From her old history lessons, she knew that golems had once been a great force in Orzammar, providing defense against the darkspawn that plagued the Deep Roads, but now they were virtually extinct.

"Aye," confirmed the dwarf. "He claimed it's meant to control a golem down in the village of Honnleath, south of Lake Calenhad. Of course, he wasn't sure that it works – gave it to me for free, actually," he added, straightening proudly.

"For free, huh?" Sara mused, raising an eyebrow at him.

His face fell and the Warden could tell he'd realized he had just given up his chance to overcharge her for it. She grinned and dropped some coin onto his cart for the other items. Truthfully, she didn't know if they'd be back near Redcliffe any time soon since they weren't much closer to finding the Urn, but it was worth the look on the dwarf's face to 'buy' the control rod anyway.

She sauntered back to the fire where Zevran was nearly done preparing dinner. Alistair and Wynne had joined the elf and were sniffing eagerly at the food he was dishing out; even Morrigan had been drawn over by the refreshingly flavorful smell. Sara grinned and walked over to her tent to drop off her recent purchases.

"Sara!" Leliana called out excitedly as the Warden headed over to join them. Her heart gave a nervous leap at the sound of the bard's voice, but she sat down next to her on the log. "I found something stuck between the pages," she was smiling, clearly pleased with herself. She held up a creased bit of parchment. Sara's brow furrowed as she took it slowly from her; a look of comprehension dawned on her face when she examined it more closely. "It's a map," Leliana confirmed. "Haven is there," she pointed, still grinning. "It looks to be about a day west of Redcliffe."

Sara let out a low whistle. Redcliffe was nearly a fortnight away, but if Haven was the final resting place of the Urn, it would certainly work in their favor. "I hope we find the Ashes there," she said, mostly to herself. "If we do…"

"We'll be able to get them to the Arl more quickly," Leliana finished her thought. Sara nodded and looked up at her, surprised to find her smile gone and replaced by a much more serious expression. They were so close that she could feel the heat radiating from the bard's body. "Sara," Leliana began uncertainly, glancing quickly between the Warden's eyes and lips, "earlier, when-"

"Dinner is served," Zevran interrupted, holding out two delicious-looking but poorly-timed round metal sheets piled high with food. "Or perhaps you have other matters to attend to?" he asked with a smirk, noticing the way they had jumped apart when he'd spoken.

"Thank you," muttered Sara, taking the makeshift plate without looking at him. Leliana shot him a glare as she reached for hers – she knew that he was sly and observant enough to most likely have timed that interruption precisely. His wink confirmed her suspicions and she scowled as she began eating, becoming even more upset because the food he'd made was _delicious_.

The camp fell silent as everyone thoroughly enjoyed the meal he'd cooked. Sara noticed that Alistair appeared absolutely torn:

"This is…really good," he said, looking almost sad while simultaneously shoveling the food into his mouth. He and Sara always ate like they'd been starved for weeks (she later learned that this was an odd side effect of becoming a Grey Warden), but their lack of manners tonight bordered on grotesque.

Sara polished off her second helping and stood up just as Leliana was finishing her first. The bard attempted to rise but swayed and nearly stumbled.

"Whoa," said the Warden, catching her and helping her sit back down on the log. "Just sit here," she said, taking the plate from her companion. "Did you want more?"

Leliana shook her head. "Thank you," she said, solemn but grateful. Sara blushed under the intensity of her gaze.

"Let me put this down," she mumbled, setting her dishes near the other used plates. She looked back at the bard and saw exhaustion etched across her face. "Come on," she said, lifting Leliana's arm and draping it around her shoulder as she helped her to her feet. "Let's get you to bed."

She allowed Sara to lead her back to her tent, glad at the prospect of being able to sleep again soon. Despite her fatigue, however, she was alert enough that feeling the Warden's body against hers made her tingle with longing. She quickly began formulating plans to keep Sara around as long as possible after she got settled.

The Warden helped her companion recline on the bedroll and removed her boots for her while Leliana watched nervously. When she finally finished and drew back, she stood up and moved to leave.

"Wait," said the bard. This time, Sara paused.

"Do you need something else?" she asked, glancing back but not turning around completely.

"I- will you stay with me?" Leliana blurted awkwardly. She could see Sara's shoulders slump ever so slightly. After an agonizing pause, she sighed,

"I have first watch." She turned around – her expression betrayed her wariness and mistrust, but also a shadow of longing. Her perception of Leliana's feelings was still a confused mess in her brain. The way her companion was acting now was most definitely not congruous with her behavior earlier. "You should rest," she said curtly. "Goodnight." Nodding her head once, she ducked out of the tent before Leliana could protest.

Finding herself alone again, feelings of yearning and loneliness swelled within her. She lay down on her bedroll, welcoming the rest but anxious for the nightmares she knew it would bring.


	19. Way Past Creepy

_Disclaimer: anything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 11 –Way Past Creepy<strong>

Leliana felt the familiar sting of jealousy as she watched the two Wardens walking side-by-side at the front of the party, heads bent together while they discussed things that were apparently meant for their ears alone. She wasn't particularly concerned about anything _romantic_ happening between Sara and Alistair – they bantered a good deal, but it always seemed more the teasing of close siblings rather than that of potential love interests. What bothered her, she supposed, was that Sara had been ignoring her for nearly two weeks, and she had been unable to find even a moment alone with the Warden to explain their misunderstanding. Even worse, everyone in camp seemed aware of the discord. Morrigan's constant mutterings proved beyond a doubt that she had noticed the tension between the two women, and Wynne often caught the bard watching Sara from a distance. Sten made no indication that he cared or even noticed, but Leliana had a feeling that the Qunari missed little. Even the dog seemed to notice the way Sara avoided her.

As for Zevran…that elf was the worst of them all. She felt a small surge of satisfaction that he wasn't with them at the moment; he'd been sent ahead to scout as they'd gotten closer to the mysterious village of Haven. His behavior around the bard recently had been almost unbearable. His comments were no more lewd than usual, but he seemed to be making passes at Sara almost exclusively to irritate Leliana, and she was finding it difficult to repeatedly keep herself from reaching for her daggers. To make matters worse, the Warden had recently taken to asking Zevran to teach her various skills – trap-making, poison-making, and most importantly, how to better defend herself. She relied heavily on her quickness in battle, and the ambush by the Antivan Crows was the only time she'd been truly bested. In fact, if Leliana herself had not neutralized the elf with an arrow, they might have ended up with only one Grey Warden.

_Yet she will hardly talk to me_, she thought with a mixture of sorrow and bitterness. They'd been traveling for nearly two weeks now, and Leliana had tried repeatedly to apologize to Sara and explain everything that was going on in her head, but the Warden wouldn't let her get close enough to do either. In camp, she spent all of her time in the company of their other companions, and they hadn't shared a single watch since Leliana had regained her strength. Sara had even gone so far as to refrain from asking the bard to perform basic tasks like cooking or scouting. She would need to find a window of opportunity to talk to the Warden soon; the distance was breaking her heart.

xxx

"What exactly is going on between you and Leliana?" Alistair asked Sara as they walked together at the head of the group. The question had come out of a nowhere, and for a moment she was visibly startled.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she responded tartly after quickly regaining her composure. Her tone suggested that it might be unwise for him to pursue the topic.

But he pressed on anyway. "Come on, Sara, even _I_ couldn't miss it. You use to be, well, _close_. I even felt a little bit threatened," he admitted with a shrug. Sara looked at him sharply.

"Threatened how?" she asked slowly.

Alistair waved his hands. "Whoa, no, nothing like that. Maker, you're like my sister," he wrinkled his nose. It was true that in the beginning, Sara had made him flustered and nervous, like all pretty women, but as time passed they'd formed a different sort of bond, and she felt more like family than anyone he'd ever known. The look of relief on her face at his words quickly changed to one of guarded wariness. "I just meant that the two of you were spending a lot of time together, and, well, I didn't want to be any less important," he flushed, feeling foolish. He sounded like a jealous child.

"Alistair," she began, hoping that her words would come out right despite her weakness in emotional discussions, "you and I have experienced things together that Leliana and the others will never know about or fully understand. And you've been there with me since…I left Highever," she shrugged and looked at him with a sad but genuine smile. "I don't know what I would do without you."

The Templar smiled gratefully and opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by a loud retching noise behind them.

"Morrigan," Sara sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Why does she always have to eavesdrop?" he muttered with irritation.

"Good question," said Sara, grinning a little in spite of herself.

"Wait," interjected Alistair suddenly, raising an eyebrow. "You never answered my question. What's going on with you and Leliana?"

Sara's stomach clenched. Seeing the insistence on Alistair's face, she inhaled and began to awkwardly explain.

"Something…happened," she said vaguely. The Templar placed his hand on his chest and feigned astonishment. "I'm getting to it, alright?" she grumbled. How in Thedas was she going to do this? "I- well, I tried to kiss her." The words tumbled out of her mouth and she cringed.

"Kiss her?" he was genuinely astonished now. And a little in awe. "Kiss her, like, put your lips…on _her_ lips?" She gave him an exasperated look. "Alright, well, was it some sort of prank? Did Zevran put you up to it?" he asked, looking scandalized.

"What? No!" she stuck out her tongue in disgust. "For the love of Andraste, Alistair, _no_."

"Well what happened?" His schoolgirlish enthusiasm to hear the whole story was both endearing and irritating.

"It didn't work out, _obviously_," she snapped. "I thought she felt the same as me," Sara mumbled dejectedly after a moment.

"So you like her quite a bit then?" Alistair asked. She could only manage a grunt in response. "Hmm," he mused, thinking back on the dynamic between the two women. He supposed, now that he had been told, that it had been rather obvious. "Does anyone else know?"

Dani, who had been walking next to them, looked up and whined as if in response. Sara snorted. "Most likely. Wynne and Morrigan certainly do, and I'm sure Zevran wouldn't miss something like that."

"So I was the only one who didn't know?" he pouted.

"And Sten," Sara corrected him. She glanced back at the Qunari, who was walking in long, even strides and scanning the trees around them with sharp eyes. She grimaced and turned back. "Well, yes, perhaps just you."

Alistair hummed again and scratched his chin. After a few seconds of thoughtful silence, he continued. "Sara, I think maybe Leliana _does_ feel the same way about you, but, I don't know, maybe she's scared."

"I'm not scary!" she said indignantly.

He leaned away in alarm. "That's debatable," he responded with a raised eyebrow. "But I didn't mean you. I just meant- well, think about it. Her last, um, _person_," he floundered, avoiding the word 'lover,' "tried to kill her. Among other things," he added darkly.

Sara looked curiously at the Templar. He wasn't usually privy to these types of matters, but she had long known that he was quite a bit sharper and more perceptive than he let on. She suspected that spending her life around stuffy noblemen and women was what made her so grateful for his self-deprecating and candid nature. She smiled warmly at him as the vague uneasiness that had plagued her for the past fortnight withdrew a little.

"Thank you, Al-" She stopped midsentence and mid-step when Zevran reappeared ahead of them.

"Good afternoon, Wardens!" the elf called cheerfully. "Ah, Sara, I believe absence has made my heart grow even fonder of you." He watched with a mixture of pleasure and guilt as Leliana rolled her eyes in irritation. Admittedly, though he'd enjoyed stepping on the bard's toes the past many days, the redhead had slipped into a constant state of melancholy as Sara continued to avoid her, and it always saddened the Antivan to see a beautiful woman unhappy.

"Glad to see that you're still alive," Sara responded drily. "Did you find anything interesting up there?"

The elf sighed theatrically. "Alas, no. Not a single attractive woman – or man," he added, grinning and eyeing Alistair, who flushed a deep red and suddenly became very interested in his boots, "in sight."

"Anything _we_ would find interesting?" she corrected.

It took all of Zevran's willpower to bite back his impulsive response as he looked between the two Wardens.

But he decided he had perhaps pushed the limit enough for the time being. Instead, his lips twitched in a smirk as he said, "I thought you _would_ find that interesting. As you know, my standards for attraction are not exactly strict. When I say there was not a single attractive person in sight…" he trailed off and raised his eyebrow.

Sara's expression confirmed her understanding. "The village was empty?"

"Why couldn't he just say that," muttered Alistair under his breath.

The elf shrugged. "I did not explore it, but from where I watched I could see no one."

Sara exchanged worried glances with the Templar and turned back to look at the group. The tentative plan had been to set up camp just outside Haven and take only a small group in to look for Brother Genitivi, but Zevran's report made her anxious about leaving anyone behind.

"Everyone stay close," she told her companions, whose faces ranged from similar worry to severe boredom. Her eyes held Leliana's for a moment longer than the others, and the bard gave her a small smile of reassurance. In spite of the tension the past couple weeks, Leliana's gesture encouraged her. Sara returned the smile and the Orlesian felt a hint of joy for the first time since they'd nearly kissed.

The group continued cautiously toward Haven, and as they approached a hill leading up to the village, Dani slowed his steps and crouched down, a low growl rising up from the back of his throat. Sara glanced down at the mabari and felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as it always did when he became like this. Seeing his flattened ears and ruffled fur made her stomach lurch unpleasantly, but she swallowed her fear and quietly drew her daggers.

There was no one in sight as they crested the hill and entered the village, but Dani remained tense and wary as they made their way through what Sara supposed was the main square. They approached the door of what looked like an apothecary, with a battered wooden sign bearing a faded painting of a flask. Sara cocked her head and examined the small building – there was something a little unnerving about it…

"There are no windows," she said abruptly as the realization dawned on her.

"There are no windows anywhere…" Leliana was looking around the village apprehensively, her expression mirroring the Warden's.

Sara reached for the doorknob, but Alistair caught her arm.

"There are a lot of red flags here, Sara," he whispered urgently.

"What choice do we have?" she asked. He looked at her pleading eyes and released her arm. With the exception of hunting down Marjolaine, Sara usually went to great lengths to avoid putting her companions in danger – they were only here because they had to be.

She turned back and opened the door, peering cautiously through the crack.

"Hello?" The door creaked as she pushed it back and called out to the dim room.

It was indeed an apothecary, or at least a shop well-stocked with an array of medicines and poultices. The rest of the group filed into the room and began looking at the various wares, silent except for the occasional sound of shuffling feet. A loud _click_ broke the silence, drawing everyone's attention. Sara whirled around and saw Zevran crouched down beside a chest in the corner of the room.

"It does not hurt to look, no?" he asked, smiling innocently.

She narrowed her eyes at the elf but said nothing. Instead, she moved behind the counter and began selecting some much-needed items from the shelf. Alistair looked appalled and Morrigan, of course, seemed pleased.

"Finally, a behavior of which I approve," she said admiringly.

"You can't just take that," Alistair told the Warden as he frowned reprovingly at the witch.

"Oh, relax," she muttered, putting the items into her pack. When she was satisfied, she dug around for some money to leave behind for the store owner, wherever he or she was. Alistair brightened and nodded appreciatively while Morrigan simply sighed.

"Let's go," Sara told them, heading out of the door and back to the main square.

As before, there was not a single person in sight. The Warden absentmindedly scratched her jaw and looked around, uncertain of how to proceed next. Originally, she'd assumed they would simply ask the villagers about Genitivi, but that was proving very difficult to do.

"Wait," said Leliana as Sara started off towards one of the houses. She tiled her head and furrowed her brow. "Do you hear that?"

The Warden listened for a moment but could hear nothing. Just before she opened her mouth to say so, she heard it.

"Yes," she murmured, trying to identify the direction of the noise, but Leliana had already figured it out.

"Over here," she said, following the distant sound of human voices. It grew louder when they turned down a small row of houses, and finally they realized where it was coming from.

"That looks like a Chantry," began Sara slowly as they approached the building, "but…"

"It has no windows," the bard finished her sentence in the same uneasy tone she'd had earlier.

"Then it's not a Chantry," Alistair cut in definitively. "They always have windows – it's called the Chant of _Light_, hello-oo," he said, mostly to himself. Sara bit her lip – it bore the same arching entry doors and structure as all other Chantries, but the Templar was right. Windows were often the largest and most intricate part of Chantry buildings, as they were so-named for the aforementioned Chant of Light.

The voices were very loud now, speaking in eerie, steady unison.

"Alright, well," drawled Alistair, "this just went way past creepy."

Sara privately agreed as she turned to the rest of the party. Most of them looked anything but ready to proceed, but they nodded at her anyway. Leliana, who was closest, resisted a strong urge to grab the Warden's hand and give it a comforting squeeze. Sara glanced at her just before turning around and easing open the heavy, wooden doors as quietly as possible.

The Chantry was surprisingly bright inside for a building that lacked windows - the hundreds of candles and numerous lanterns around the room provided more than enough light.

"That has to be a fire hazard," Alistair whispered as he peered in over Sara's head.

There were perhaps nine or ten men and women chanting in a strange tongue and kneeling together on the ground. In front of them, a man in robes stood with his head bowed and his hand placed upon a grotesque, chimeric-looking statue.

"What language is that?" Sara whispered to Alistair, but he shook his head and looked at her with obvious bewilderment.

"It sounds like Tevinter," murmured Wynne from behind the Wardens. Sara turned around and saw the mage's brow creased with curiosity. "But…older. Ancient."

She bit her lip and turned back, leaning in to get a closer look at the statue when her hand slipped against the door and it creaked open.

The man at the front of the room looked up and removed his hand from the statue. Silence fell as the chanting ceased and the others raised their heads to follow his gaze. Cursing her clumsiness, Sara straightened up and stepped inside.

"I'm sorry to intrude," she said in her most polite voice, although she was unsure if they would understand Fereldan. "My companions and I-"

"You have no right to be here," he interrupted tersely as he crossed the room towards the group.

She bowed her head slightly. "Our sincerest apologies, Ser, but we seek a man named Genitivi-"

A low hiss sounded throughout the room. Apparently they understood Fereldan perfectly.

"Revered Father," started one of the congregants fiercely as he rose to his feet and glared at Sara. "Shall we dispose of these ones, too?"

'_Too'? _Sara shifted uneasily.

"Revered Father?" Leliana wondered aloud. "That's not permitted." The words came before she could stop herself. Fear raced through her chest when he turned to look at her with strange, burning eyes. The Revered Father glanced down to her neck at the chantry amulet that Sara had given her and sneered, lunging for it violently. Leliana was too stunned to react, but Sara drew her dagger and jumped between them before he could reach the bard.

"You would do well to stay back," she growled, holding up her weapon and pressing toward him.

"You will not speak to Father Eirik that way!" shrieked a female congregant as she scrambled to her feet. The others followed in suit and advanced on the group.

"We do not take kindly to outsiders," Father Eirik snarled, drawing a shortsword from his hip. At his words, the congregants swarmed the Wardens and their companions. Although they were greater in number and driven by rage, the villagers were poor fighters with shoddy equipment; it was only a few moments before the floor of the Chantry was littered with the bodies and blood of its worshippers.

Sara forced back the feeling of sickness that rose up in her throat. The aggression and violence of Father Eirik and his fellow congregants was disturbing and unwarranted, but they didn't need to die. If she and the others hadn't interrupted what was clearly a private and sacred ceremony, they might not have attacked. With that thought, another thin layer of guilt wrapped itself painfully around Sara's heart.

She wiped her daggers against her armor and re-sheathed them before looking around at the rest of the group. Everyone seemed unharmed, although Alistair, Leliana and Wynne looked a bit shaken. Morrigan sighed with boredom.

"Will you never learn that religion does no good?" she asked contemptuously, looking amongst the group.

"This was not just religion," Leliana retorted, gesturing to the corpses. "It was extremism."

The witch snorted. "'Twas strong faith, you fool. Not so different from your own-"

"Please," interrupted Sara before Leliana could hurl a reply. The bard whirled on her.

"You allow her to call me a fool, yet you will not let me defend myself?" she asked indignantly.

"That's not what I was trying to do," Sara pleaded wearily, still working to ignore the sick feeling in her stomach. The stench of blood was quickly filling the room and she wished very much at that moment that they could leave.

"No," agreed Leliana spitefully. "You haven't been trying to do much of anything lately." She turned on her heel and stalked off to the back of the Chantry.

Sara inhaled sharply through her nose and closed her eyes. "Let's just search the place and get out of here as quickly as possible," she told the others through tight lips.

Alistair resisted the urge to diffuse the tension with a lame joke and took off toward the back room. The rest of the group spread out awkwardly and began looking over the bookshelves and odd objects around the Chantry.

Not wanting to face anyone after Leliana's comment but not wanting to be alone amongst the corpses, Sara followed Alistair. She rounded the corner into the back room but stopped in her tracks when she saw what the Templar had discovered.

He was standing before a small pile of dead bodies with his hand pressed over his mouth. She came up beside him and craned her neck to get a better look at their armor. With a start, she recognized the crest on the breastplate of the dead man lying closest to them.

"Redcliffe soldiers," she breathed, her eyes growing wide. When they had been charged with finding the Urn of Sacred Ashes, Sara had gently but insistently suggested that they send Redcliffe soldiers instead, as the Wardens still had to recruit the help of the Dalish elves and the dwarves. They were informed, however, that several parties of Arl Eamon's men had already been sent on the trail for the Urn but had disappeared entirely. It seemed that at least some of them had been in Haven for quite some time…

"Sara," Leliana called out, breaking her train of thought. She turned to see the bard peering around the corner, ashen-faced, as she looked at the bodies. Tearing her eyes away from the corpses, she continued urgently, "There's something you need to see." She turned around and started off before Sara could inquire further.

She and Alistair followed the bard into the main room, towards the back wall. Leliana led them to the opposite side of a bookcase that had been pushed aside to reveal a hole just large enough to allow them to pass through on hands and knees. They emerged on the other side to a small, dark room with a series of tiny holes in the ceiling.

"For air," Leliana explained, following Sara's gaze. The Warden looked down and met her eyes, still not noticing why the bard had brought her here. A weak cough from one of the darkened corners startled her, and she spun around. A badly-beaten man leaned forward into the small shafts of light that streamed through the air holes.

"I believe you have been looking for me." His hoarse voice came out haltingly through cracked, bloodied lips. "I am Brother Genitivi."

xxx

"You are far too weak to come with us," Sara told Brother Genitivi outside of the Chantry.

"Faith will make me strong," he responded stoically, raising his chin despite his slumped posture.

The Warden looked to Alistair for help, but he merely shrugged uncertainly. She rolled her eyes and turned back to Genitivi.

"We can't protect you while fighting whatever might be ahead. You _must_ wait for us here." She was practically begging him as she steeled herself against the tears that were forming in his eyes.

"You cannot deny this man the chance to come with us," Leliana cut in emphatically. "This has been his entire life's work!"

"Watching after him will get us all killed," Morrigan snapped.

"I will watch after him myself," pleaded Leliana. "I will be responsible for him." The desperation in her eyes shifted something in Sara's mind, and she felt herself giving in.

"Then 'twill get _you_ killed," the witch responded. After a thoughtful pause, she added, "Well, on second thought-"

"Fine," Sara interrupted, her tone more resigned and less threatening that it would have been if anybody else had asked this of her.

The other members of the party began shuffling and preparing for the trek up the nearby mountain, but Morrigan caught Sara by the arm.

"You are not fit to lead if you cannot put your biases aside," she hissed in the Warden's ear. "Although, I suppose I should not be surprised that the Chantry wench gets her way. Perhaps if _I_ had played the innocent victim you would have fulfilled your promise by now." The resentment in her tone was unmistakable, and when Sara looked at her, it was not only anger she saw on the witch's face.

"I _will_ fulfill my promise to you, Morrigan," she told her firmly as she wrapped her fingers around the hand that gripped her arm. "And _you_ were never fit to follow, but we must all rise to the roles forced upon us," she pried herself free of the witch's grasp and looked unblinking into her golden eyes. Morrigan's jaw twitched with an unspoken retort as she stepped back from the Warden. "I will kill Flemeth," Sara repeated, tilting her head towards the witch. "But this must be done first." She turned away before Morrigan could respond and set off after the rest of the group, wondering when and how she was going to be able to keep her word.

xxx

It was beginning to grow dark outside when they finally reached the entrance to the caverns that were fabled to hold the Urn of Sacred Ashes.

"It's here," whispered Brother Genitivi reverently, leaning heavily on Leliana's shoulder to keep from collapsing. He had kept up surprisingly well, and Sara could not tell now if he was swaying from exhaustion or elation.

With the bard's help, he hobbled forward and pressed the medallion they had pilfered from Father Eirik's body into a small hole carved into the stone door. It slid into place like a key, and with both hands he began winding if. Sara could hear the grinding sound of stone against stone as something moved out of place. Finally, the grinding stopped and the key would turn no more. Genitivi stepped back and Sten and Alistair came forward to push against the door. Even with their combined strength, it took considerable effort to force it open enough to allow them to enter the caverns. When they finally made it inside, even Morrigan found it difficult to suppress a gasp.

It was as if the entire mountain had been hollowed out – massively high ceilings vaulted overhead so far above them that Sara could barely make out their surface. Intricately carved designs covered the stone floor of the entry hall, which was littered with various artifacts. There was something unusual about the caverns that she couldn't quite identify, and she looked around wonderingly for a moment before it struck her.

Sara had never been particularly religious, and when she was younger, she'd had an impressively consistent habit of falling asleep in her lessons with the Revered Mother of the Highever Chantry. But when she realized the caverns were so odd because, despite being buried within a mountain with no obvious source of light, they were bright as day, she felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck slowly rise. Glancing up at her companions, she saw Leliana looking around the caverns in the same way, and she could tell by her expression that she had reached the same realization. The bard, however, did not seem to feel disturbed as Sara did. Instead, she closed her eyes and smiled to herself as if…relieved. Suddenly, her eyes were open and she was looking at Sara, who felt herself blush with embarrassment at having been caught staring. Leliana's gaze lingered for several moments, the smile still playing across her face.

"Wardens!" Brother Genitivi's voice echoed across the cavernous entryway. Sara jumped, startled, and walked over to see what he was getting so excited about. "She's here," he breathed reverently, tracing his fingers across an engraved portrait. "I'm certain of it. Andraste is here."

Sara exchanged nervous glances with Alistair – they'd certainly had enough religious zealotry for one day. "Well, good," she said awkwardly after a moment. She looked at his frail body, swaying weakly. "We'll search the caverns for the Urn."

He tore his eyes away from the engraving to look at Sara. "There are cultists here," he warned her. "After I arrived, Eirik sent a group of them. He told them to 'warn the others'," his eyes grew distant.

Sara nodded, looking resolute but feeling anxious. If they'd been sent ahead to prepare for anyone who might be coming, the caverns were probably laden with traps.

"If we dispose of any cultists we encounter, you should be safe here," she raised her eyebrow, unsure whether he would acquiesce to such a suggestion. He merely nodded absently, having already turned back to the engraving. "Right then," she muttered, stepping back and signaling to the rest of the group to follow.

They entered a narrow passageway at the far end of the room, and walked a bit before Sara turned around to stop them. She relayed what Genitivi had told her about the cultists being hidden out around the caverns, ready for any outsiders. "If they've been warned, this place is probably a death trap for us."

"I can scout ahead," volunteered Leliana, stepping forward. Alistair began to nod approvingly, but Sara interrupted,

"No." Her voice was firm. "Zevran," she tipped her head in the elf's direction.

"What?" asked Leliana incredulously. "Am I not skilled enough?" The question was rhetorical. Her abilities to identify traps and travel with stealth were equal to, if not greater than, the Antivan's.

"You are skilled," Sara replied with a small shake of her head. "But you- it would be better if Zevran went," she fumbled her words.

Leliana took her arm and pulled her farther into the cavern, dropping her voice.

"What is this Sara?" she whispered, searching the Warden's eyes. "Is this punishment? Payback?"

"No," she shook her head and closed her eyes in frustration. "It's neither of those things."

"You think he's better than me," the bard accused. "Well I will show you otherwise."

"No," Sara reached for her arm but missed as the Orlesian pulled away.

Leliana turned around and stalked off into the darkness, muttering angrily to herself. So enraged was she that she didn't notice the thin tripwire running between the cavern walls just an inch off the ground. Sara, who had cast her eyes down in resigned frustration, noticed the small, black line a moment too late. She lunged forward in synchrony with a tiny "click" as something metal pulled out of the wall, initiating a cascade of "clicks" as the trap was triggered.

"Leliana!" she called out desperately, shoving the bard forward as the rocks began to fall from the ceiling.

"Sara, no!" Wynne yelled, reaching to stop her when she realized what was happening. But she missed the Warden by a hair, and before she or Alistair could pull her back, she was trapped under the small avalanche of rocks that came from above.

"Sara!" Leliana shrieked, scrambling to her feet and watching with horror as the Warden disappeared beneath the boulders. The rest of the ceiling came down, blocking her off from the rest of the party.

She threw herself to her knees and began frantically clawing at the rocks.

"Sara," she whispered urgently, ignoring how the stones tore at her flesh as she pulled them away. "Sara, Sara," she repeated.

Enough rock had been cleared to expose the Warden's head and part of her outstretched arm, but as far as the bard could tell, she was unconscious.

_Or worse…_

"What have we here?" drawled a malicious voice from behind her.

She jumped and spun, reaching reflexively for her daggers. A group of cultists, drawn by the sound of their trap, stood before her.

_Ten, twelve- too many to count_. She swallowed back a wave of nausea.

Their bearded leader smiled malevolently, his thin lips curled back to reveal yellowing, rotted teeth.

"Seize her."

The cultists moved forward and within seconds, Leliana was forced to the ground.


	20. Risen

_*Disclaimer: anything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare_

**Chapter 12 - Risen**

_What surprised her most was the barrenness. For as far as she could see, there were no buildings, no trees, no people – no life of any kind. What little remained crumbled to ash beneath her boots. But there were corpses. Not covering the ground completely, but scattered about. Men, women, and children, bloodied beyond recognition, limbs and bodies twisted in unnatural ways. These people had not just been killed. They had been destroyed._

"_What did this?" Sara asked, turning to look at the Grey Warden. The words were thick in her throat. "Darkspawn?"_

"_Not 'what'," responded Duncan, ignoring her second question and keeping his eyes focused on the horizon as they walked. "Who." She frowned at him and stopped walking. After a couple paces, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. "You did, Sara."_

"_What?" She recoiled as if physically struck. "How? No, I didn't-"_

_Duncan had turned around and was moving slowly towards her, his eyebrows knitted accusatorily._

"_You did, Sara," he repeated. "First you failed your family, and then you failed Ferelden. You could not rise to the task set before you, and your countrymen paid with their lives." A wave of nausea threatened to release the contents of her stomach. He was right in front of her now, his face inches from hers. "This is your doing."_

_She felt a peculiar trickling sensation on her fingers and looked down. A blot of crimson bloomed in the center of her palms, spreading across her hands. She realized with a sickening in her gut that the blood was not her own._

"_Sara," his voice was gentle as he called her name, but she didn't look up. "Sara."_

Sara's eyes fluttered open as she came to. She could see Wynne's mouth moving, but it was several moments before she connected what she saw with the voice that echoed in her head.

"Sara," the mage sighed with relief, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples.

"Wynne," she replied hoarsely.

It wasn't until the older woman leaned through the flaps of her tent to relay the news of her awakening that Sara began wondering what was going on. She'd assumed the mage came to tell the Warden that it was her turn to take watch, but Wynne never took watch. Sara was watching her settle back into the tent and take up her staff when she remembered.

"Leliana!" she cried suddenly. Before she could sit up fully, Wynne had thrust her staff in front of her chest, holding her in place. She had never seen the mage move so quickly before.

"Lay _down_," her tone was firm, angry even, with a look that had none of the relief and affection she'd seen just moments before.

Afraid of the fire in Wynne's eyes, Sara acquiesced to her command, but her desire to know of Leliana's condition was overwhelming.

"Wynne, please," she begged. "Is she alright?"

The mage pursed her lips and shifted her grip on her staff, holding it over the Warden's body and assuming a look of concentration. After a few moments, she relaxed and withdrew slightly, her face slackening.

"I do not know," she whispered, casting her eyes to the ground.

"What do you mean?" It was difficult to keep the panic from her voice. "Is she unconscious?"

Wynne inhaled deeply and met Sara's eyes. Despite her disappointment and anger, she felt a pang in her chest when she saw the Warden's concern. "It took quite some time to clear the rocks from the tunnel," she began quietly. "By the time we had finished, Leliana was gone."

Sara's eyes widened in alarm. "Did she go off to scout ahead? She might return later-"

"I do not think so, child." The interruption was gentle. "When we were clearing the path we heard voices, shouting," she swallowed. "A struggle."

Sara's mouth went dry. "They took her?" her voice cracked. Wynne nodded. "We have to go after them!" she bolted up again, but this time it was the mage's hands that forced her back down.

"_Sara!_" The shout made her head reel with pain. She squinted up as the older woman pushed her back. "You will go nowhere," her voice was shaking with anger. "Do you realize how foolish you were?" The Warden swallowed, realizing that this was no ordinary scolding. She had upset Wynne with her actions in the past, but this had gone too far. "That trap nearly killed you." The mage shook her head, anger shifting to disappointment. "You put one woman ahead of the fate of your entire country."

"It was instinct!" Sara responded defensively. "I would have-"

"_First you failed your family, and then you failed Ferelden. You could not rise to the task set before you, and your countrymen paid with their lives."_

Duncan's voice flared up and she bit her tongue. It was true that she had behaved instinctually, and all of her companions knew that she would have pushed any of them out of the way, but her favoritism towards Leliana was undeniable.

"It is time for you to realize that you do not have the luxury of being selfish," Wynne's words no longer held anger or disappointment, but her tone suggested that it would behoove the Warden listen carefully to what she was saying. "We have all joined you and Alistair to aide you in defeating the Blight. To protect you as you fulfill your duty," she inclined her head and fixed her gaze unblinkingly on the Warden. "In helping you, we are all disposable, Sara. Even Leliana."

She swallowed. The words tore at her gut – Wynne was right, but if the choice came between Leliana and the rest of Ferelden, she could not say whether she would make the right decision.

"I know," she whispered, ignoring the implications of the mage's words.

"Rest now," Wynne said as she rose to her feet and turned to leave. "Later, I will bring you something to eat. The more quickly you recover, the more quickly we can locate the Urn." She paused just before leaving the tent. "And Leliana."

"Thank you," Sara exhaled gratefully, but Wynne merely nodded before ducking out of sight.

xxx

Leliana focused wholly on memorizing the path they took as she was forced through the maze-like tunnels. Though her hands were bound behind her back and she was gripped firmly, painfully, on either side by hulking, foul-smelling cultists, she fully intended to escape and return to her companions.

She cringed as the image of Sara's battered body flashed through her mind, exercising all of her mental efforts to refocus on where they were going. It wasn't long before they entered a large, open cavern similar to the first one but much smaller in scale. From the bedrolls and belongings strewn about, Leliana deduced that this was where the cultists were camped.

She was tossed to the ground at the feet of their bearded leader, who smiled down at her with his foul teeth.

"Andraste will be pleased," he said, looking up and grinning at the others as they formed a loose semicircle in front of him. "Who will give themselves to her today?" he asked, placing his hand on a statue that was identical to the one in the Chantry. Grotesque, chimeric – a dragon bursting forth from a woman's body. The bard was finding it difficult to keep her face impassive.

After a moment's pause, a woman came forward and held up a hand. "I will, Father Kolgrim," she said reverently.

"You shall be rewarded, child," he responded, taking her arm and leading her to the statue. She knelt before it and bowed her head.

Kolgrim began chanting in the strange language Leliana had heard earlier at the Chantry – ancient Tevinter, Wynne had said. The cultists slowly joined in one by one, and the chanting grew steadily louder. When they were nearly shouting, the bard watched in horror as Kolgrim drew a dagger from his waist and moved behind the woman who was kneeling in front of the statue. In one swift motion, he brought the knife around to her neck and pulled it across her flesh, spilling blood onto the statue and the ground below.

"No!" Leliana cried, scrambling backwards. Forgetting her bound hands, she stumbled and fell onto her back. The chanting had stopped when the woman's throat was cut, and Kolgrim now approached her with a wicked grin. "You're mad!" she yelled, looking around wildly. "All of you!"

His eyes flashed angrily. "Andraste demands sacrifice, and her true followers give themselves willingly," he snarled.

"No!" she cried again. "Andraste would never ask that the Maker's children take their own lives in her name!"

His lip curled in a sneer and before she could move, he lunged forward, wrapping a bloody hand around her chantry amulet. He tore it from her neck and dangled it in front of her.

"You," he hissed, "know nothing of Andraste." Kolgrim moved closer, sending warm specks of saliva toward her with every word. "We will put an end to your false worship." His eyes glinted as he reached out and touched her face, leaving faint streaks of crimson on her cheek. "And you will help us do it."

xxx

Wynne kept a wary eye on Sara's back as they moved silently through the caverns. It had not even been a full day since she'd regained consciousness when they'd packed up and headed down the now-clear path. The mage was well aware that a large part of the Warden's eagerness to move along was her desire to find Leliana, but despite her motives, their swiftness was imperative. Arl Eamon lay dying in Redcliffe, along with any hope of overthrowing Loghain and gaining aide for the Blight.

Zevran traveled at the front of the group and scanned the tunnels for traps, but it seemed to be unnecessary. Wynne grew more and more uneasy as they moved through the caverns without encountering any surprises from the cultists – after all, Sara had nearly died only a few steps in to the first tunnels. Why had they backed down now?

"Wait," he whispered, holding up a hand and interrupting Wynne's worried musings. He moved forward cautiously, disappearing around a corner. Sara watched anxiously until he reappeared a moment later. "There is a large cavern ahead, a camp," he told the group quietly. "There are 12, perhaps 13 of them there."

Alistair frowned. "In plain view? They aren't, oh, I don't know, planning to ambush us?"

The elf shrugged. "There is nowhere to hide." He turned to Sara and hesitated. "They have Leliana."

Sara pressed her lips into a thin line and swallowed. She glanced at Wynne before sighing and closing her eyes briefly.

"If there is nowhere to hide," she began, "we must also go out in plain view."

"Not all of us are rushing to give our lives for the chantry wench," Morrigan cut in tartly.

The Warden resisted the urge to fire back at the witch, electing instead to appeal to Zevran. Although he would usually jump at the idea of getting between two beautiful women, this was not way he would have liked.

"There is no other way," he admitted.

"I don't know," said Alistair slowly. "This seems very much like a trap…"

"If they wanted to kill us they could have done so long ago," the elf replied. His eyes narrowed. "They want something, but I do not think it is our blood."

Sara could see from the twitch in her jaw that Morrigan was exerting a great deal of effort to remain silent, and she decided to take the opportunity to convince her other companions to proceed before the witch's self-control ran out.

"Perhaps we can negotiate with them," Sara said. "If not, they may outnumber us, but we are stronger." When she saw that doubt still lingered in their eyes, she pressed on. "Either way, they stand between us and the Urn."

She watched the concession in their eyes after her last statement. Even Wynne was nodding reluctantly. With renewed resolve, she turned and headed around the corner, resting her hands on her weapons as she approached their camp.

Sara's heart leapt when she saw the shock of red hair across the cavern. The bard was set apart from the cultists, watching them warily while they knelt in front of their leader. Her hair was matted and her face bloodied, and the Warden felt her stomach lurch as she recalled Leliana's state when they rescued her in Denerim.

"She really can't catch a break," Alistair breathed from beside her.

"Ho there!" Sara called out. The leader looked up and locked eyes with her. "I believe you have something of ours," she continued with false congeniality as her heart beat madly in her chest.

"Is that so?" returned the man, curling his lip and stepping over to Leliana. Sara forced herself to remain still while she watched him jerk the bard ruthlessly to her feet. "Then we shall have to arrange a trade."

The Warden's face was impassive as she glanced briefly at the Orlesian. "I do not think I have anything of equal value."

He tugged Leliana's elbow impatiently as he moved toward her. "You have nothing I want," he growled. "There is something you must do."

"And why would you trust me with such a task?" she asked skeptically.

"Because," he dug his nails into the bard's skin until she winced. "You have a great deal to lose."

From the corner of her eye, she watched Wynne shift her grip on her staff, and Sara was unsure whether it to stop the cultists or to stop her.

"Let's hear about this job first," she said, feigning nonchalance.

He considered her for a moment before continuing. "Before I tell you of this quest, you must first know this," he paused and lifted his chin towards her. "Andraste is risen."

If his statement was meant to be a shocking revelation, all dramatics were lost on Sara. She exchanged glances with Alistair, who began looking exaggeratedly around the cavern.

"Funny," he began, "she must have missed the invitation to our little gathering here."

"Yes," agreed the Warden. "Perhaps we should send her a party favor anyway."

"Enough!" he yelled. Sara watched with panic as he drew a small blade and held it to Leliana's neck. "You will not mock her," his voice was strangled.

"Forgive us," she inclined her head apologetically. "It is only fair that we do something for you in return for the release of our companion." She watched his grip on the bard loosen, but the weapon remained pressed against her neck.

"Atop this mountain are the Ashes you seek," he began after a moment. "It is guarded by a spirit who refuses to accept Andraste's rebirth, and he will not let us near the Urn. Your beloved Ashes tie the prophet's soul to her old form, and she cannot fully assume her reincarnated existence." His voice rose with excitement as he continued. "All it would take is her blood – just a drop – to release what remains of Andraste's spirit from the Ashes."

"Her blood?" Sara abandoned any attempt to hide her confusion.

"Taken from her new form," he replied reverently.

She opened her mouth to inquire further when her eyes slid to the statue against the wall. It was the same as the one she'd seen in the Haven Chantry – a woman and…

"A dragon?" the Warden was incredulous. "Andraste returned as a dragon?"

A small whimper from Leliana tore her eyes away from the crazed leader. Her disbelief had angered him, and small rivulets of blood formed beneath the blade he had pushed more firmly against the bard's neck.

"I'm sorry," Sara rushed, cursing herself. "It's just…may we see her?"

"She is not ready!" he shrieked. "Only the Disciples may see her. Once she fully assumes her reincarnated form, however, perhaps…" he raised an eyebrow at her.

"And to rise fully," she began slowly, "...the Ashes must be destroyed with her blood?"

"She must reclaim the power held within the Urn. It is the only way." His gaze was challenging.

"No!" yelled Leliana, straining against his grip. The blood flowed more quickly from her neck, but she ignored it. "Sara, please!"

She kept her eyes on the leader, clenching her jaw as she ran mentally through her options. Finally she spoke.

"Alright."

"Sara!" exclaimed Wynne, looking incredulously at the Warden. To her relief, she saw Alistair lay a hand on the mage's arm and give her a warning look.

Kolgrim missed the exchange, grinning, "We shall show you the way."

She blocked out the bard's desperate cries as she turned to Alistair and nodded almost imperceptibly to him, hoping he would understand her silent communication. She felt a small flood of relief when he returned the nod and fell into step behind her to ready the others. They followed the cultists down a short series of tunnels and through a large iron door. Sara threw up a hand to shield her face from the daylight, and she realized with a start that she had no idea how much time had passed since they'd first entered the mountain. Squinting, she looked down the mountain path and saw another door leading to the interior of the snow-capped peak.

She watched Leliana trudge alongside Kolgrim at the front with her head hung in despair. Praying their ambush would work, she looked at Alistair as her hands drifted to her daggers. When she saw him reach for the hilt of his sword, she drew her weapons and lunged.

"Now!" Sara shouted, throwing herself towards the leader. He whirled at the sound of her cry and shoved Leliana in the Warden's path. She slowed herself but was unable to avoid colliding with the bard, sending them both tumbling to the rough ground.

For a moment, Sara gazed down breathlessly at Leliana's worried face. She opened her mouth to speak but tore her eyes away when she heard an inhuman sound echo across the valley. Kolgrim was blowing into an intricately twisted horn, ceasing only when his face grew red and his breath ran out. All sounds of battle stopped and an eerie silence fell over the party. A shrieking roar was the only warning they had. From behind them a massive dragon rose up, beating its colossal wings as sunlight glinted off its scales.

"Andraste!" called Kolgrim, holding his arms aloft. "Rise! Rise and punish the wicked!"

Sara whipped around, grabbing Leliana's hand roughly and pulling her to her feet. "Run!" she shouted, pushing her towards the mountain peak. Reaching out and snatching the elbow of the nearest person, she tugged, waving to the others and shouting again. "Run!" she urged, taking off after Leliana. They tore up the mountain path, and the Warden watched as the dragon skirted along the edge and circled around to dive towards them from behind. Sara's heart pounded in her chest as they neared the other door, hoping against reason that they could make it through before the beast unleashed its fire on them.

As if on cue, it opened its mouth and inhaled deeply, expelling flames that engulfed the party. Sara felt the heat behind her, but there was no pain or searing skin. She slowed, turning to look behind her as the others drew closer to safety.

"Wynne!" she screamed, skidding to a stop. The mage had fallen back to throw up a shield against the dragon's inferno, her face twisted with effort as she held off the fire until it finally ceased.

The Warden looked around wildly, finally finding Morrigan's eyes. Before she could say anything, the witch had begun to shift her form, a faint light emanating from her body.

"Go!" she commanded Sara before rising up as a giant hawk and swooping towards Wynne.

She scrambled backwards, watching as Morrigan dodged the dragon's snapping jaw and dove low to scoop up the mage. Turning, she bolted to the door and sidled up along Sten and Alistair, preparing to push it shut.

Seconds later, Morrigan plunged through the doorway carrying Wynne. Sara's muscles strained as she threw her weight against the door, ignoring the shrill scrape of metal on stone as they forced it closed. She turned back to see Wynne rising unsteadily. Several feet away, Morrigan lay on the ground, breathing heavily and wincing in pain.

"Morrigan," the Warden rasped, rushing to the witch's side. She touched her shoulder gingerly. "Are you alright?"

Morrigan waved a hand in her direction as she sat up and rubbed her forehead. "Be gone with you," she said, her voice hoarse. "I am no weak little girl." Taking up her staff, she pushed herself to her feet. "Or Alistair," she added, tilting her head until there was a distinctive popping sound in her neck.

"She's fine," Sara said drily, turning back to the others. She saw Wynne looking curiously at the witch, but said nothing.

"It's not enough that the Urn is damn near impossible to find," Alistair cut in bitterly, leaning on his knees. "No-_oo_, it has to be guarded by unhygienic lunatics and their pet dragon." He straightened up and shook his head. "You have to _really_ want it."

But Alistair's voice was only a vague buzzing at the back of Sara's mind. She approached Leliana slowly, almost afraid to believe that the bard really was in front of her.

"Hi," she said weakly.

"Hello," Leliana answered. Her lips parted slightly as she exhaled with relief. "I was so afraid you…after I set off the trap," she reached up and gently traced a finger down a thin, red line on Sara's temple.

"I was afraid," the Warden answered, "when I learned that they'd taken you."

Leliana sighed. "For a moment I thought you really were going to destroy the Ashes to save me."

Sara shrugged. "I just needed to get his blade off of your neck." She leaned in to examine the damage Kolgrim had done. Feeling the bard's breath on her cheek, she suddenly realized how painfully close they were and pulled away, flushing deeply.

"Does anyone need to rest?" she called out. Behind her, Leliana smirked to herself, thoroughly enjoying the Warden's unmistakable blush. Her companions shook their heads in silence, readying themselves to continue. She felt a small pang in her chest as she looked upon them, wondering why they were so willing to trust her and hoping their faith wasn't misplaced.


	21. What Could Have Been

_*Disclaimer: Anything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare_

**Chapter 13 – What Could Have Been**

_For as far back as she could remember, Sara had spent her spare moments in the forests of Highever. She enjoyed the solitude, the challenge of hunting game, and the thrill of doing something her mother did not condone. And for as long she could remember, there was never a moment Sara spent outside of the castle grounds that was silent. Everything was always lush, green, and teeming with life. But everything had changed._

_What surprised her most was the barrenness. For as far as she could see, there were no buildings, no trees, no people – no life of any kind. What little remained crumbled to ash beneath her boots._

_But there were corpses. Not covering the ground completely, but scattered about. Men, women, and children, bloodied beyond recognition, limbs and bodies twisted in unnatural ways. These people had not just been killed. They had been destroyed._

"_What did this?" Sara asked, turning to look at the Grey Warden. The words were thick in her throat. "Darkspawn?"_

"_Not 'what'," responded Duncan, ignoring her second question and keeping his eyes focused on the horizon as they walked. "Who." She frowned at him and stopped walking. After a couple paces, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. "You did, Sara."_

"_What?" She recoiled as if physically struck. "How? No, I didn't-"_

_Duncan had turned around and was moving slowly towards her, his eyebrows knitted accusatorily._

"_You did, Sara," he repeated. "First you failed your family, and then you failed Ferelden. You could not rise to the task set before you, and your countrymen paid with their lives." A wave of nausea threatened to release the contents of her stomach. He was right in front of her now, his face inches from hers. "This is your doing."_

_She felt a peculiar trickling sensation on her fingers and looked down. A blot of crimson bloomed in the center of her palms, spreading across her hands. She realized with a sickening in her gut that the blood was not her own._

"_Sara," his voice was gentle as he called her name, but she didn't look up. "Sara."_

She rose slowly to her knees on the ashen ground, steadying herself with one hand while rubbing her forehead with the other.

"Sara," began the gentle tenor of The Guardian's voice as her eyes slowly focused.

"What was that?" Her voice was hoarse and strained – still the images of the bodies circled through her field of vision, though they could no longer be seen in the desolate land surrounding her.

"What could have been," the keeper of Andraste's ashes answered. "In another world, perhaps, what _is_." Sara shook her head slowly as she rose to her feet, small clouds of ash filling the air, but The Guardian continued. "Tell me, Sara Cousland, in those rare moments that are your own, in the late hours of the night when you struggle to find an escape from this world, what thought plagues you?"

Still gently shaking herself free of the splitting pain behind her eyes, she looked up at him coldly.

"As if you don't know…"

"I do," The Guardian conceded. "Do you?"

Sara fell silent. Of all that she'd experienced, she hesitated to pick out one thing that made her restless above all others. Finally, inhaling deeply, she found her answer.

"Failure."

Her eyes locked with The Guardian's. For several moments, his face remained impassive. Finally, he nodded.

"It is so, Sara," he conceded. "In your young life, you have already seen more tragedies than most will in a lifetime. But know this…" he took a step towards her, "there is nothing to be learned from perfection. It is in our darkest moments and most insurmountable hopelessness that we achieve greatness."

The Warden swallowed against the aching lump in her throat.

"Truly you know much of loss," he continued. "Your family slain by a trusted friend. A mentor lost to betrayal. Twice you have lost the woman you love." Sara felt a thrill of fear course through her spine. "But do not forget, young Warden, that you have much yet to face. And there is strength to be found in staring down your greatest fears."

She nodded, her jaw twitching with growing resolution. "I know my path, Guardian. I will rise to it, and I will conquer it."

After several long moments, The Guardian broke the silence.

"Very well. That is all I needed to know."

xxx

"Sara, wake up. Sara," the lilting Orlesian voice called to her.

The Warden's eyes fluttered open, slowly taking focus.

"Sara!" Alistair exclaimed with relief.

She felt a hand slide under her shoulders – _Leliana's? Alistair's?_ – and slowly raise her into a sitting position.

"I'm okay," she husked. "I'm okay."

Arms wrapped tightly around her, and a familiar scent filled her nose.

"Thank the Maker," Leliana whispered in her ear. "You just disappeared…you were-"

"Gone," cut in Alistair. With great effort, Sara raised her eyes to meet his. "You were gone." His voice was thick.

"I'm back," she answered hoarsely. "I'm right here."

After several minutes of recovery, she rose to her feet and breathed deeply, looking around to her companions. The Guardian's voice echoed through her mind, and she was reminded of all that they had yet to accomplish.

"Let's save the Arl," she said resolutely, turning to the final door.

xxx

The final path to the Urn of Sacred Ashes had not been easy.

All of Sara's companions had been thoroughly tested, in strength and in faith. Indeed, once they had reached the translucent bridge, weary and bedraggled, it had been Dani, chasing a rat with abandon, who discovered that the bridge was as solid as the ground upon which they stood. Sara had nearly had a heart attack watching her warhound race onto the bridge after the rodent, but her shouting stopped abruptly when she saw him continue to race after the rat to the other side.

Finally, after the group had returned and the Arl had made a speedy recovery, it was decided that a ball would be thrown, in celebration of Eamon's newfound health and the heroic quest of the Warden and her companions. Now, Sara found herself with Alistair and Leliana, passing around a bottle of wine the bard had pilfered all too easily from the massive wine cellar.

The Warden was regaling her two favorite companions with a tale from her childhood in response to the genuine and unabashed reactions Alistair and Leliana had had to the clean, tasteful, and noble gown she had begrudgingly donned for the night's festivities.

"_Mother's going to hang me by my toenails!" she thought with dread, running as fast as her awkward, gangly body would carry her._

_The young girl padded along rapidly until she reached the main gates of The Cousland Estate. She was about to cross the bridge when she was nearly clotheslined by the wooden handle of a spear._

_"Oi!" shouted one of the guards. "Where do you think you're going?"_

_Sara reeled back, dazed._

_"I- I live here!" she stammered at the guard._

_He guffawed loudly. "Look at this peasant. He's got spirit, ent he?" The other guard smirked._

_"I ent no peasant!" protested Sara, stamping her foot._

_"Back to the streets where you belong, boy." The first guard pushed her away easily._

_The young noble staggered back, nearly falling. She straightened and marched up to him, her face inches from his naval as she craned her head up at him._

_"My name is Sara Elisabeth Cousland," she shouted in her child's voice, "and my father is Teyrn Bryce Cousland. And I'm a _girl_!" she huffed, puffing her chest out proudly._

Alistair howled with laughter, his face beet red as his shoulders shook uncontrollably. Leliana, for her part, was laughing harder than Sara had ever seen anyone laugh- head tipped back, rocking to and fro as she let out peal upon peal of rich, silvery giggles. She wiped the tears from her eyes, clutching at her abdomen.

"Alright, well," muttered Sara, largely to herself, "it's not _that_ funny." In spite of everything, however, she found that she had a hard time suppressing a grin.

Leliana exhaled, slowly and with a great deal of control, trying to keep the laughter from bubbling up yet again. After she'd finally managed to catch her breath, she spoke.

"Well, my dear Warden," the bard began, "if it makes you feel at all better – you look very much like a woman now."

Sara felt the heat rush to her cheeks as she ducked her head. Alistair's laughter, which had been fading out quite slowly, came to an abrupt halt.

After an awkward cough, the young Warden managed to find a response. "Well, my dear _bard_," she rejoined, "I'm not sure I feel much better given the tears still streaming down your face."

"True enough," Leliana conceded, dabbing gently at the corners of her eyes as she looked at Sara. Her gaze roamed freely over the burgundy and cream silk gown that Sara had chosen.

She could feel her skin tingling under the heat of Leliana's gaze. Despite her best efforts, she could not tear herself from the bard's striking eyes. "Shall we?" she finally asked, becoming conscious that they were not alone.

"Yes, we shall," Alistair answered quickly, feeling very much like he ought to be anywhere in Thedas that was _not_ where he currently was. He rose hurriedly and exited the room, starting down the spiral staircase just outside Sara's bedchamber.

"Sara…"

The Warden froze, mid-stride to the door through which Alistair had just disappeared. Turning slowly on the spot, she could feel the hair on the back of her neck prickle and a dull ache in her abdomen as Leliana sauntered deliberately towards her.

"I am more than certain that the knights of Redcliffe will be quite taken with you," the bard began quietly, drawing closer with each word. "But I am…shamefully hopeful that you will have your eye on someone else."

Leliana was not quite sure what gave her such strength to be as bold and forward as she was behaving in this moment. Certainly, in her bardic days, she had experienced no shortage of courage and confidence. But around the Warden she always found herself uncharacteristically shy and uncertain. Perhaps it was the wine, she considered – or maybe she could simply no longer keep her feelings for her companion quiet.

Sara could hear herself swallow nervously. The Orlesian was just inches from her now – so close, in fact, she could feel her breath and detect a faint hint of Andraste's Grace. She wondered briefly where the bard had found more flowers before the thought was chased from her head by Leliana's next movement.

It happened so quickly that the Warden would have missed it, were it not for the soft lips suddenly pressed to hers. She inhaled sharply, the scent of the flowers stronger now, but mingled with something else – something unique and feminine that made her ache to her core.

Sara leaned in slightly, pressing her mouth to Leliana's as her heart threatened to beat through her chest. The bard's lips were so soft, so warm…in her sweetest dreams, the ones that were too few and far between, she had imagined this.

Leliana broke the kiss, pulling back slightly and looking up at the Warden coyly.

"Perhaps that someone will be me," she whispered before stepping gracefully aside and walking coolly from the room.

Sara watched her go, her lips still parted. She could still feel the Leliana on her mouth, and her fingers tingled with the unfulfilled desire to bury her hands in Orlesian's red hair. After a moment, she followed in the bard's wake, wondering how she was going to finally satisfy her longing.


	22. A Celebration

_A bit of an interlude. I thought our adventurers deserved a break. Things are going to get quite interesting for them in the days to come..._

_Everything you recognize from the game belongs to BioWare_

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><p><strong>Chapter 14 – A Celebration<strong>

Leliana's prediction that Sara would have no shortage of dance partners was, in a word, accurate. Between the eligible knights of court and Arl Eamon himself, the young Warden hardly had a minute to herself. In spite of the constant distraction, however, Sara's mind was focused on one thing – the kiss she and the bard had shared in her bedchamber. Indeed, there was only one small moment in which her attention was diverted from Leliana.

"Sara," began the Arl in the most serious tone she'd heard that evening. She turned to meet his gaze as they sat at the long banquet table. Most of the guests who had been seated alongside them were mingling about or enjoying a light-hearted waltz on the dance floor. "I have not yet had a chance to express my condolences for the fate that befell your family."

Her jaw clenched momentarily as she forced back a small wave of nausea. "Thank you," she responded, inclining her head slightly.

"You know Bryce was a friend of mine," he added. The young woman nodded. Her father had been one of the most powerful men in Ferelden. The two men met many times at court and had formed a personal friendship, despite the Teyrn's participation in the war against the Orlesians. "I was never fond of Rendon," a darkness flashed in Eamon's eyes, "but to think of him betraying his closest friend like that..." the Arl shook his head. "Unimaginable."

At this, Sara looked down at her hands, forcibly reminding herself of Leliana's insistence that she could not have stopped Howe.

"And what Loghain did to my nephew at Ostagar…" he trailed off momentarily. "And then having the gall to elevate that traitorous hound to Arl of Denerim" He sighed heavily, dropping a fist on the table. "You know, Sara," the Warden looked up to meet his eyes. "Some men make mistakes." She thought she saw his gaze flicker quickly to Alistair and back. "And some men are without honor entirely."

The girl nodded, unable to bring herself to say anything of substance.

"I will do everything in my power to see them both brought to justice," he promised her solemnly. "I will no longer be an old man who stands idly by while injustices are committed around me." This time, his glance towards Alistair was unmistakable and lingering.

"Thank you, Arl," Sara responded with sincerity, drawing Eamon's eyes back to hers. "As a Grey Warden my duty lies first with ending the Blight. But it would be a farce if I were to say that knowing those men walk free while our families have lost so much does not keep me awake at night."

The Arl took her hand, squeezing it momentarily before lifting his eyes to see the other Warden approaching them.

"Alistair," he intoned, rising to his feet.

"Arl Eamon," the Templar responded stiffly, inclining his head. Sara raised an eyebrow and looked about furtively, trying to determine the quickest way out from between the two men. She stood up, smoothing her gown and clearing her throat awkwardly.

"I do believe I hear one of- of my companion's beckoning me," she stammered, squinting her eyes in feigned urgency and trying to appear as though she was being forced to leave them as opposed to running away from the palpable tension. "Ah, yes, Zevran!" she called out, waving at the elf as he passed by innocently. He stuttered to a stop, looking around in bewilderment for the source of his name. Spotting Sara – who was failing at her attempt to gracefully edge her way out from between Alistair and Eamon – he had to suppress a smile.

"Warden," he rejoined jovially, trying as best he could to hide his amusement.

"Fear not dear friend, I am coming," she said, looking down distractedly and trying to determine how it was that two chairs had become utterly entangled in each other. She couldn't help an unladylike grunt as she finally wrenched the chairs apart, now focusing on removing the hem of her dress from beneath Alistair's foot.

"Oh, for the love of- _move, Alistair_!" she hissed. The boy looked down in surprise and hopped back apologetically. "Gentlemen," she gave a half-curtsey that would've made her late mother cover her eyes in embarrassment before striding swiftly to Zevran's side and feigning a look of one who was engrossed in an important conversation.

"So how has it been to revisit the life you enjoyed as a young noble?" the elf asked, walking alongside the Warden.

She rolled her eyes with exasperation. "I never knew how my mother managed it. It came so easily to her. Meanwhile I feel like an ogre shoved into a ream of silk," she muttered, looking disdainfully at the smudge Alistair had left on her gown. "Anyway, how are you-" she turned toward her companion and stopped mid-stride and sentence.

"What?" inquired the elf, following Sara's gaze down to his hands. In each fist he held a goblet of wine so full it threatened to spill over the edge.

"I'm sorry, were you fetching a beverage for someone?" she asked, feeling slightly embarrassed that she'd interrupted him.

"No," he replied simply, sipping from one glass and then the other. "I was simply being efficient."

Sara hummed suspiciously but decided to let it go. "How are you finding the festivities?" she asked instead. "Everyone treating you alright?" She had been concerned that he would be mistaken for a servant – even with the Dalish tattoos – and thus treated as an inferior.

"And then some," he responded good-naturedly. "There has been no shortage of good manners, or good view," he added, looking approvingly at a group of women clustered nearby.

"Agreed," the Warden murmured thoughtfully. Zevran looked around, surprised that Sara did not reprimand him for his comment, only to find her looking intently across the dance floor. He followed the path of her gaze and saw Leliana chatting pleasantly with some very Orlesian-looking fellows.

"So," began the elf, no longer hiding his grin, "has anyone tonight captured your attention? I saw you dancing with quite a few handsome gentlemen. Were I in your position I would have likely snuck away with one of them. Or perhaps two," he raised his eyebrows at her.

Looking away from the bard, Sara rolled her eyes and grumbled in disgust. "Don't be absurd, Z-"

"My lady," the Warden jumped back, startled, as yet another knight greeted her with a sweeping bow. "I am Wilton Wulff, son of Arl Gallagher Wulff."

Sara curtsied half-heartedly in response. "Of West Hills?" she responded, noting the crimson bull – the West Hills heraldry – that adorned his tunic.

He nodded in confirmation. "I hoped that I might ask to have the pleasure of a dance with the Champion of Redcliffe."

"Oh," responded Sara, looking flustered and slightly exasperated. "I…"

"Unfortunately, dear knight," interrupted Zevran, holding out one of his goblets to the Warden. "I was just stealing away the Champion to discuss what arrangements must be made in preparation for our departure tomorrow."

"Ah," Wilton responded with no small amount of disappointment.

"Duty calls," Sara intoned, accepting the goblet and trying to keep the relief from her voice as she followed Zevran away toward the edge of the courtyard. "That was brilliant," she whispered to the elf as they passed under a small archway leading away from the festivities.

"I was simply trying to protect the poor boy's feelings," Zevran rejoined. "You are adept at many things, Warden, but feigning interest is not one of them."

"True enough," she agreed, unable to help a grin.

"I also hoped to thank you for the gift," he added in a more sincere tone, glancing down at the Antivan leather boots he wore. "I was informed by Alistair that the Arlessa was so overjoyed at her husband's recovery that she insisted upon gifts for all involved in the retrieval of the Ashes. It is my understanding that you arranged for my reward in particular."

"It was only a small thing," the young woman mumbled, shrugging noncommittally.

"On the contrary, my friend – it is perhaps the greatest thing." Sara glanced over to see the elf smiling nostalgically as he led her up a set of spiral stairs.

"Where are we going?" she asked after a moment, realizing she hadn't been paying attention to their wanderings in the least.

"I thought perhaps you could use a break from the ball." Zevran opened an inconspicuous door that led to a small tower with a full view of the courtyard. "Or at least, from the knights."

She snorted, nodding in agreement as she searched the gathering below. The elf watched her thoughtfully for a moment before adding, "I will see if I cannot find you your own refreshment." He smirked and plucked the goblet out of her hand before leaving her alone to her thoughts.

xxx

Leliana skirted around the edges of the ball, having had her fill of obligatory dances. She gracefully lifted a glass of wine from a tray carried by a passing servant, sipping at it as her eyes roamed over the other guests. Since the moment she and the Wardens had joined the party, others had constantly demanded the attention of Sara and Alistair, which left the bard to mingle with strangers and her companions who were not of noble blood.

Although she'd spent much of the evening engaged in conversation or dance with others, her eyes and thoughts regularly drifted back to the junior Warden. Her stomach fluttered at the thought of the kiss they'd shared in Sara's guest room, and she couldn't help the slightest smile at the memory. Part of her was nervous, however, that perhaps the younger woman had simply been caught off guard and had merely gone along with Leliana's actions. She'd found Sara's eyes searching for her at much of the evening, but that was not necessarily an indication that the attraction was mutual.

Looking around now, the young noble was nowhere to be found. Leliana frowned, the tiniest knot forming in her gut as she downed the last of the wine. She spotted Alistair and Eamon deep in conversation at the banquet table. The Templar's expression was one of shock, and he was staring into his hands at something that the bard could not see from her present angle. The knot in Leliana's stomach grew slightly. Whatever they were discussing looked greatly important, and the fact that the other Warden was not around to participate worried her.

"My dear bard," an Antivan voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Hello, Zevran," she replied as the elf leaned against the wall next to her.

He watched her for several beats, seeing her search the crowd as Sara had been doing.

"I am quite flattered by the festivities but they have grown trite, have they not?" The bard hummed in agreement. "Perhaps there is something else you would be interested in doing? Away from here?" he asked.

She sighed. "I'm not interested in bedding you," she stated wearily.

"Ah," he began. "For once that is not quite what I meant."

Leliana looked at him suspiciously. He only winked at her and tilted his head towards a small door leading out of the courtyard before pushing off of the wall and walking away. She rolled her eyes in exasperation but elected to follow him anyway. That he had admitted that he was not trying to be flirtatious piqued her interest, and she figured wherever he was leading her was likely better than the ball.

xxx

Sara looked around as the door to the tower swung open. She had remained by the small window, largely unmoving, since Zevran left.

"I hope you don't mind, Warden," he began with feigned regret. "I could only find red."

He moved out of the doorway, grinning at the way Sara's eyes lit up as Leliana stepped passed him into the small tower.

"Hello, Warden," said the Orlesian in her lilting accent. "I brought a gift," she held up a bottle of red wine.

"How kind of you," Sara replied, an unmistakable blush coloring her cheeks. She glanced over Leliana's shoulder at Zevran, who was leaning to close the door. "Thank you," she told him, a smile spreading across her face.

"It was my pleasure, my friend," he tilted his head and pulled the door shut behind him.


	23. The Tower

**Chapter 15 – The Tower**

Zevran descended the stairs from the small tower, balancing the two goblets with practiced ease and smiling to himself. In the course of his young life he had not often been treated with the kindness Sara had shown him, nor had he had the opportunity to repay such generosity with his own. Though the Warden had verbally thanked him, it was the rare and genuine smile that spread across her face upon seeing the bard that truly communicated her gratitude.

Re-entering the courtyard, he quickly spotted the individual for whom the second goblet was originally intended and headed her way. Sidling up next to the brunette, he extended a cup in her direction.

Morrigan accepted it wordlessly, her golden eyes flickering away from a group of young women who had been fawning over a knight. The disdain left her face momentarily as she lifted the wine to her lips. She let a moment of silence pass after sipping from the cup before speaking.

"I presume Sara was pleased to see whom you delivered to the tower."

Zevran hummed in agreement. When Morrigan remained silent, he added, "I must admit, I am a bit surprised you have no reply."

She sighed in concession. "I am…_loathe_ to say it," she began reluctantly. "But perhaps the young Warden is not so unbearable as I had believed." A thought that Sara had not yet delivered on her promise to kill Flemeth crossed her mind, but it did not linger.

The elf watched as Morrigan plucked idly at the fine silver bracelet Sara had arranged to be given by the Arlessa. He knew some things of her past, among them the fact that Flemeth considered anything with no practical value to be a wasteful annoyance, and thus Morrigan had never been allowed such things in her youth.

"Yes, she can be quite surprising," agreed Zevran. "As can you. I wonder what other surprises might lie beneath-"

"Your life depends on you not finishing that sentence," she interjected before taking another sip of wine as she gazed across the courtyard.

The elf inclined his head. "As you wish." He couldn't suppress a grin, however, as he saw the way Morrigan's lips curved into a small smile around her goblet.

xxx

Sara watched Zevran swing the door shut with a mix of excitement and utter dread. She was unable to identify that exact moment that her interest in the bard had surpassed the realm of friendship. The Warden only knew that in the recent weeks, simply being near the Orlesian made her skin hum with anticipation.

"Would you like sit with me?" the young woman asked, indicating a small stone ledge near the window.

"I would like that very much," Leliana responded, moving to the seat and smoothing her gown as she sat next to the Warden. She took a sip of the wine and passed it to her companion. "So," she asked, gazing out of the window onto the revelry below, "how did you find such an opportune hiding spot?"

Sara swallowed a mouthful of wine. "It was Zevran's doing," she admitted with a shrug. "I'm not sure how he discovered it, but it was very generous of him to share this little secret with me. Well, us," she amended.

"Indeed," agreed the bard, accepting the bottle that Sara offered her. "To be quite frank, there were moments this evening in which I envied Morrigan's complete disregard for custom." Leliana took a healthy swig of wine. Sara nodded. The witch had presented herself for the banquet, though as soon as the first Waltz had been announced, she retreated to the shadowy corners of the courtyard and was all but absent for the remainder of the evening.

"Although," the redhead continued, gazing at the bottle she held in her hand, "it was worth the stay to see Sten so…vulnerable?" The bard chose the last word with difficulty.

Sarah thought for a moment in puzzlement, before a dawning of comprehension finally formed on her face. "The kitten!" she exclaimed.

Leliana giggled with a mixture of delight and surprise. "You saw it also?"

The Warden nodded, trying to speak through laughter. "I did! Some poor knight was trying to tell me of some battle or another, but I couldn't concentrate! All I could do was watch over his shoulder as Sten played with that kitten."

The bard hiccupped a giggle, taking a sip of wine before passing it to Sara. "No," she responded with solemnity. "Not playing, Sara," she furrowed her brow in feigned sincerity. The girl gave her a questioning smile. "I approached him to ask what, exactly, he was doing, and he told me he was training it!" Leliana shook her head, a wide smirk plastered across her face. "I accused him of being a big softie."

Sara, still laughing at the story of Sten's attempted stoicism, accepted the wine bottle back from Leliana.

"I _was_ glad to see that, but I was more than happy to escape from the army of knights that was invited to tonight's celebration," the Warden rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Leliana laughed light-heartedly. "Yes, I can imagine that my remark was an understatement," she replied, alluding to the flirtatious comment she'd made in Sara's bedchamber.

Sara grunted and nodded. "Arl Eamon seemed to have an unending stream of courtiers set to meet the 'Champion of Redcliffe'," she said the title with no small amount of contempt.

"We all have our burdens to bear, dear Warden," Leliana's eyes twinkled. "It appears that yours is to be loved and adored." After a moment, she turned more serious and remarked, "I did see you and the Arl engaged in a rather solemn-looking discussion. Is all well?"

Sara gazed out of the window briefly and hummed in acknowledgment. "Yes. He only wished to express his condolences for my loss. My father was his friend," she added, looking over at the Orlesian. After a moment, she continued, "He promised to bring Howe and Loghain to justice. I know that is not a matter with which I should be concerned now, but…" she trailed off, shrugging and gazing out the window once again.

Leliana watched her thoughtfully, remembering the way the Warden had been staring down into her lap as the Arl spoke with her. She was suddenly reminded of the Templar's conversation with Eamon. "I saw Alistair speaking quite intently with the Arl as well. Shortly after your…exit," she couldn't help a grin.

Sara groaned and tipped her head back against the wall. "You saw that?" she whined.

Leliana's eyes twinkled. "I did. It appears that Zevran came along at just the right moment."

"Was I at least a little convincing?" the Warden asked, her cheeks coloring with embarrassing.

"Not in the slightest," Leliana responded cheerfully, smiling at her companion's blush.

Sara groaned and covered her eyes. "You saw that and still want to be around me?" Her comment was meant to be light-hearted and self-deprecating, but her breath caught in her chest when she saw the look on Leliana's face.

"Every moment," the bard informed her quietly. Her heart skipped, thinking about the last time they had been in a room alone together. After a moment, she continued, "Earlier, in your room…I hope I didn't overstep any boundaries."

Leliana thought she would melt under the heat of Sara's gaze as the Warden replied, "I think I have been wanting you to overstep for a long time." Accustomed as she was to being in control, it was not often that the bard felt completely stunned. But when the young woman leaned forward and met her lips in a kiss, the Orlesian felt frozen in place.

This was not the chaste, stolen kiss they had shared in the bedchamber. Although she suspected the Warden was not particularly well-versed in such matters, Leliana would not have been able to guess from the way Sara moved. Her lips parted as the Warden deepened the kiss, a hand stealing up to cup the bard's cheek. Leliana's own hand reached up as she slid her fingers through Sara's hair, tugging at her locks slightly as the Warden pulled her closer.

Sara's mind was spinning, alternating between marvel and disbelief. Since the moment Zevran had brought the bard to the tower, she'd longed for this; only her nerves had kept from moving in to capture Leliana's lips with her own.

After several moments, the pair pulled apart, both slightly breathless.

"Leliana," Sara whispered, her lips curving into a smile as she moved her hand down the bard's neck to rest on her shoulder.

"I know," Leliana responded, meeting the Warden's eyes

Sara opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted as the door to the tower swung open. Alistair stood in the doorway looking slightly flustered.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-" he stammered.

"It's alright," the younger Warden told him, ignoring a twinge of irritation.

"I only saw Zevran bring you up here," he explained. "I didn't realize-" he broke off, his cheeks coloring.

"Stop being silly Alistair," Leliana added lightly. "Come, sit – you seem troubled." Sara noticed it too now – some small hints on his face that he'd been crying.

The Templar swallowed and nodded, coming into the tiny room and joining the women on the bench by the window.

"Is this about your conversation with the Arl?" Sara asked with concern.

Alistair nodded, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing something small. Opening his hand, they saw a silver amulet glinting in the light of the nearby torch.

"It was my mother's." His voice was barely more than a whisper. "I broke it once, when I was younger. Eamon and I had a fight – a yelling match, really," he shook his head. "I tore it off my neck and threw it at the wall before storming out. I hadn't said more than a few words to him since." The Templar rubbed a thumb over the amulet, looking up at his companions. "He must have fixed it. When he gave it to me he- he said he was sorry," Alistair looked back down at the necklace in his hand. "Sorry he hadn't done more for me."

Leliana laid a hand on his shoulder, and Sara clasped his free hand with her own. "You were special to him," the younger Warden intoned. Her senior responded with a small nod.

"I never thought- all that time in the Chantry, I thought he wanted nothing to do with me. But I suppose in truth he had little choice…"

"Politics is pure horseshit," Sara responded sagely.

Alistair couldn't help a snort of laughter and Leliana giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. Sara looked up at the Orlesian, grinning at the twinkle in the bard's blue eyes.

"Shall we return to the ball?" Leliana asked, squeezing the Templar's shoulder affectionately. "It is being held in our honor, after all."

Alistair looked up at his friends before nodding with a smile, slipping the necklace over his head and tucking the amulet underneath his tunic.


	24. Reunion

_A/N: There might be minor issues with the timeline regarding the Ferelden rebellion against Orlais, as there are conflicting entries in the codex. I decided to just wing it._

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><p><strong>Chapter 16 – Reunion<strong>

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Alistair shouted, ducking just in time to avoid the massive fist that was swinging through the air.

"Easy!" Sara yelled simultaneously, holding up her hands. A raven that had come swooping into camp only moments before dove away, quickly shimmering and morphing into an enraged swamp witch.

"_What in the bloody hell is wrong with you?!_" Morrigan shrieked, striding toward the group with her staff raised.

Sara had seen Morrigan's face bear several emotions in the past – most of them negative – but never had she seen even a hint of fear until now. She whipped around and took a step forward, putting herself between the approaching apostate and the golem.

"I do not like birds," Shale stated simply, and the Warden could've sworn she heard a sniff of disdain in the golem's voice.

"Well she's not _technically_ a bird," Alistair responded slowly, trying to hold back a quip lest the golem decided to let its fists fly again.

"Swing at me again, and I will reduce you to a mound of pebbles," Morrigan said in a low voice, her golden eyes hardening with a promise that she was not one to make idle threats.

Shale said nothing, only looking back as impassively as one might expect a walking boulder to look.

"So it's settled," Sara said resolutely. "We have all agreed to not kill each other."

Witch and golem stared at each other for several tense moments before Shale took a step back and Morrigan lowered her staff. Sara knew that was the best she could wish for – she dared not hold out hope that they would apologize to each other. She turned to Morrigan, drawing the witch's attention away from the stony figure. The young Warden was beginning to wonder if it had been worth all the trouble they'd encountered in Honnleath to recruit the golem.

"Anything of note?" Sara asked. The witch had just returned from a brief scouting trip, which she often performed in the form of a raven.

"As a matter of fact, yes," she replied, looking seriously between the two Wardens. "A little over half a kilometer ahead, five men are escorting a sixth man who appears to be their captive. The prisoner is still mostly armored; likely they wish to keep him alive in the event of a darkspawn attack," the witch added.

Sara frowned slightly, shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders – she was unable to grasp the significance of this particular group.

Morrigan's eyes narrowed at the junior Warden. "His armor bears the crest of King Cailan's honor guard."

Somewhere far away, Sara heard Wynne gasp.

"He was at Ostagar."

xxx

The two Wardens crept through the forest, Leliana, Morrigan, and Dani on their heels. They came upon the crest of a hill, looking down into the encampment below. The sun was rapidly setting, and it seemed that the six men had stopped for the day.

"Okay," whispered Sara, turning around to her companions. "We have to take care of the guards before they can use the prisoner as collateral. They might recognize us as the remaining Wardens and surmise what we're here for," she added to Alistair, who nodded in agreement. "Alistair and I will take opposing flanks – Leliana and Dani, you can take the two closest. Morrigan, take the last one." The other women nodded silently, and Dani lowered his head in acknowledgement. "Count to twenty and strike," she told them before she and Alistair took off in opposite directions.

It took only minutes for them to dispose of the guards and free the prisoner. Sara sliced through the rope around his wrists, and he rubbed gratefully at the bloody sores that had formed beneath the tight bindings.

"Thank you Wardens," he told them, his voice gravelly with exhaustion. "And you as well, miss," he inclined his head toward Morrigan, who only blinked at him in return.

"So it's true," Alistair said with wonder. "You were at Ostagar as well, with King Cailan?"

"Aye," the freed man confirmed. "My name is Elric Maraigne. I served in the honor guard for the past twenty years, under King Cailan and his father before him."

There was a rustling in bushes at the edge of the small clearing, and Sara turned to see Leliana and Dani emerging from the wood. "It is clear all around – I believe we are out of danger."

The Warden nodded and turned back to Elric. "So, how did you come to be cap-" she began before seeing he was not paying her a shred of attention.

He was staring unblinkingly over her shoulder, mouth open in disbelief. Sara frowned in confusion, turning around to follow the man's gaze just as he moved to push past her. Looking over her shoulder, she realized that he was moving toward Leliana with slow resolution, and she felt a thrill of fear in her gut.

"Whoa!" She grabbed at his arm and yanked him back slightly. He made no move to pull away from her, nor did he take his eyes from the bard, who was now looking at him with a mixture of alarm and curiosity.

"You-" he said thickly, swallowing before he could continue. "Leliana..?"

The Orlesian's eyes widened, and Alistair's eyebrows shot up into his hair; even Morrigan raised a brow in surprise.

"Yes, but I'm- I'm sorry," Leliana stammered, completely nonplussed. "I don't believe we've met before."

Sara heard Elric exhale an emotional gasp. She looked over at him to see his blue eyes swimming.

"You don't remember. Of course; you were so young," he whispered, nodding and closing his eyes against the tears. Reopening them, a smile slowly came across his face. "I'm your father."

xxx

Several beats of tense silence passed.

"Forgive us, Ser," Sara began hesitantly, looking between Leliana and Elric. "This is...not quite what we were expecting when we came into this clearing."

Finally Elric tore his eyes from the bard's face. Leliana had paled significantly, her blue eyes wide with shock.

"Of course, forgive me," he told the group. "I just- I had not expected it either, as I'm sure you can imagine…" he trailed off, looking back at Leliana. "My dear," he said softly, stepping towards her. "You have grown into such a beautiful young woman…"

But the bard took a step back, eyebrows creased in suspicion. "No," she shook her head. "You can't be."

"Leliana," Sara called to her in what she hoped was a soothing tone.

"I am," he insisted gently. "Dinah- your mother," he corrected himself with a slight shake of his head, "took you to Orlais when you were very young-"

A pause, then, "You- but, you never looked for us, for _me_." The bard's voice hitched. "We could barely get by! For years my mother scrubbed floors for nobles who did nothing but look down their nose at her and you were here, doing what? Playing_ hero?_" The more she spoke, the louder and more wounded her voice became.

"It wasn't like that," Elric started, holding out his hands helplessly. "There was so much out of my control. Your mother- she stopped contacting me years ago! I knew almost nothing of your lives in Orlais. Where is she now? Is she still there?"

"She is dead," Leliana said thickly. "She died and there was nobody there to bury her but me. I was a _child_," she all but spat the last word.

"Please, just let me explain," he begged.

Sara could see the bard's jaw working as she stared Elric down. Instead, Leliana turned toward the junior Warden.

"We should return to the others. They are likely starting to worry." She spun around and started off in the direction of the rest of the group. Sara looked around to Alistair, her face drawn in concern.

"Go on," he said, nodding toward the retreating Orlesian. Sara took off after her and he turned back to Morrigan and Elric.

"We should go through their things," he told them, indicating the packs that belonged to the guards.

That seemed to snap Elric out of his depressed silence. "Yes!" he agreed suddenly, moving his eyes away from the path Leliana had taken out of the clearing. "They removed my satchel, but I don't think they opened it. I think you will find its contents of grave importance," he added cryptically, turning toward the scattered bodies.

In minutes he had retrieved his own belongings, fishing out at thin stack of papers and handing them to Alistair. The Templar unfolded them and looked over the documents, eyes growing wider with every page he read.

xxx

"Leliana," Sara called out after the bard when they were out of sight of the clearing and was grateful to see that her companion was slowing to a stop.

Were it anyone but the Warden calling after her, Leliana would have pushed on, but she turned to face the young woman, shuddering with relief when Sara wrapped her arms around her.

For a few moments the two stood in silence until the Warden pulled back to look into her companion's eyes. Leliana was unsurprised to feel dampness in her lashes, though the tears had not yet rolled down her cheeks. After a moment, she spoke.

"I just…" her voice cracked. Taking a deep breath, she tried again. "I don't understand, Sara." The Warden lifted her hand to Leliana's cheek but remained silent as the bard continued. "If he's truly who he says he is, my- my _father_," she struggled with the word, "where has he been all this time? My entire childhood I watched my mother labor for hours and hours each day – breaking her back and earning only the disdain of the court – and all along this man was…out there…"

She trailed off, and Sara pulled her into her arms once more, closing her eyes when she felt Leliana gripping her shoulders. When they broke apart again, it was the Warden who spoke.

"I know it is hard to imagine," she conceded, "but perhaps there really _is_ a reason. Not an excuse," she clarified. "A reason."

"Then why did my mother never mention him?" The bard's voice was almost pleading, and Sara felt a pang in her chest. She could offer no explanation for that, and silence overcame them. As if on cue, Dani trotted up and, sensing Leliana's turmoil, leaned his huge head gently against her leg.

"Come," Sara said, taking Leliana by the hand. "Let us return to camp. I think you need some water. Or perhaps some wine," she amended, dipping in to lay a gentle kiss on her companion's cheek. She was gratified to see the hint of a smile when she pulled away.

xxx

Back with the others, Sara and Sten were arranging camp. The former began by building two fires – keeping with Morrigan's custom, as she always did – and the latter swiftly erecting tents in their usual arrangements. Dani was sprawled out near the Warden, having exhausted himself by being so emotionally supportive.

Leliana had taken up her bow and busied herself with what minor repairs it required. Occasionally the Warden glanced over at her companion, a small crease of worry in her forehead. They'd quickly returned to the rest of the group, Leliana still pale from the recent revelation. Sara had announced that they had retrieved the former member of the king's honor guard and he would be accompanying them for the time being. Until the bard was comfortable, however, she felt it was not her place to elaborate on the familial relationship.

Quickly enough, the source of her concern had entered camp, led by Alistair and Morrigan.

"Sara," the older Warden called to his junior as soon as he arrived. She met his eye, quickly frowning in confusion when she saw the look on his face and the papers he clutched in his hand.

Rising from the fireplace, she followed him a little ways away from the group. He held the documents out to her, whispering urgently.

"Cailan was planning an alliance with Orlais. Empress Celene reached out offering support for the Blight – and look at this one!" He momentarily snatched the documents back, shuffling them around and thrusting them back into her hands.

"This is from Arl Eamon," Sara murmured, scanning it rapidly. She looked up sharply at Alistair. "He wanted him to leave Anora!"

The Templar nodded fervently. "And this one," he yanked the bottom sheet out from the pile in her hands and placed it on top.

The junior Warden looked it over with widening eyes. "Maker," Sara breathed. "'_Once that is done we can further discuss a more permanent alliance between Orlais and Ferelden'_" she read aloud. It all seemed to hit her at once as she met Alistair's eyes once more. "Eamon was pressuring him to leave Anora to marry into an alliance with Orlais." Her look became hard and the Templar could see her jaw working in anger and realization. "And who among us has the most to lose from an alliance with Orlais?"

Alistair nodded, having already reached the same conclusion. "Loghain."

Sara swore under her breath. "Ostagar. He was the commanding officer – the entire battle plan was his strategy. You don't think-"

"Of course I do!" Alistair's voice rose above a whisper momentarily. "How many times has he publicly stated that he would never accept an alliance with Orlais? And think, if Cailan were to marry into Orlesian royalty…"

"Loghain would refuse to acknowledge the union or the new queen."

The Templar nodded, "He'd be branded a traitor – likely executed."

"Ostagar was the perfect way to get Cailan out of the picture…" Sara bit her lip, exhaling again and trying to stop her head from reeling. She looked over his shoulder toward the rest of the group. After a moment she shook her head resolutely. "Okay, we're nearly to the Dalish. We'll take care of that and stop back into Redcliff on the way to Orzammar. We need to have a long talk with Eamon. I'll hang onto these," she indicated the papers. "Perhaps Morrigan can put some sort of protective spell on them…" she trailed off, heading in the direction of the witch.

Alistair watched her go before turning his gaze to Leliana, who was making a poor show of focusing on repairing her bow. Instead he saw her look up every few seconds and glare critically at Elric, who sat near Wynne's tent as she tended to his injuries. He sighed to himself, feeling slightly dizzy and wondering how it was that everything they thought knew had been turned on its head.

"Quite an unusual day we've had, isn't it?" he asked as he approached the bard, lowering himself onto a stone next to the log she sat upon.

Leliana looked over at him, smoothing her brows and sighing. She gently set her bow on the ground and dropped her forehead into her hands. Looking up at him again and, perhaps sensing he was going to ask a question she did not wish to answer, tilted her head toward the area where he and Sara had been bent together in hushed conference. "Did you find anything particularly interesting?"

"Not as interesting as a long-lost father," he blurted before he could stop himself. She shot him a cold glare. "I'm- I'm sorry," he shook his head. "I'm not particularly good at…situations like these."

The Orlesian raised a brow. "You encounter this sort of thing often?"

Recognizing her attempt at levity as a sign of forgiveness, he smiled and ducked his head. "No. I suppose that's why I'm handling it so poorly." Leliana hummed in agreement.

"In any event, yes, we did find something very important," he began, returning to her question. Soft footsteps drew his attention to Sara as she approached the pair. "Was Morrigan useful?" Alistair asked his junior, indicating the documents. She nodded and joined Leliana on the log. He returned his gaze to the bard and continued. "We found evidence that suggests that Loghain may have arranged Ostagar to ensure the Cailan wound up dead."

Leliana's eyes widened and she looked to Sara, who nodded in confirmation and passed her the letters. She skimmed them quickly, exhaling with disbelief and looking back at her companions. "A marital alliance with Orlais…"

The Wardens nodded and Sara accepted the documents back, tucking them carefully in a leather pouch.

"Meeting with Arl Eamon regarding these findings has been moved to the top of-"

"I beg your pardon," a deep voice interrupted them, and they looked up to see Elric standing a little off to Sara's side, clasping his hands together nervously. "I don't mean to interrupt – I saw the letters and thought maybe…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"These are immensely helpful, Elric," Sara told him, rising from the log and offering her hand. "We are indebted to you for passing them along to us."

The man nodded solemnly and accepted the handshake. "I was among the senior members of the honor guard. King Cailan entrusted me with them in the event that…something were to happen to him. I don't think he really believed it might though."

They stood in respectful silence for a moment before Elric looked over Sara's shoulder to Leliana.

"I wonder if- if we might talk," he stuttered anxiously. "Briefly. I don't wish to keep you from your duties," he gestured at the bow by her feet.

Sara turned around, raising her eyebrows questioningly at the bard. Leliana met her eyes for a few moments, before nodding almost imperceptibly. The Warden smiled in understanding, lifting her hand to give her companion's shoulder an encouraging squeeze before stepping past her and tugging Alistair away from father and daughter.

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, major changes to the Return to Ostagar DLC. I didn't particularly feel like rehashing all of the combat that takes place at Ostagar. I thought that the political discovery of Cailan's collaboration with Orlais was far more interesting, so I decided to eschew the actual Return part altogether._

_I'm not really sure how the Landsmeet is going to play out yet, but I know I want Loghain's treason to play a _big_ role in the story, so I'll really be playing up his hatred for Orlais and his past._


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